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Charred Wood 


Charred Wood 

By 

Myles Muredach /hut^ 



/ 

Illustrated by 

J. Clinton Shepherd 


The Reilly 8C Britton Co. 
Chicago 





Copyright, 1917 

by / 

The Reilly & Britton Co. 






NOV 19 1917 


Charred Wood 

©CU477638' 

\ A 


CONTENTS 


I The Lady of the Tree 9 

II Monsignore 24 

III Under Suspicion 44 

IV Killimaga 56 

V With Empty Hands 66 

VI Who Is Ruth? 83 

VII Bitter Bread 94 

VIII Father Murray of Sihasset. . 107 

IX The Bishop’s Confession 118 

X At the Mystery Tree 131 

XI Thin Ice 142 

XII His Excellency Suggests 160 

XIII The Abduction 171 

XIV The Inexplicable 181 

XV “ I Am Not THE Duchess! . 199 

XVI His Excellency Is Worried. . 215 

XVII The Open Door 228 

XVHI Saunders Scores 239 

XIX Capitulation 252 

XX The “ Duchess ” Abdicates. . . 268 

XXI The Beckoning Hand 278 

XXII Ruth’s Confession 292 

XXIII Charred Wood 300 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


On Killimaga’s Cliff. Frontispiece 

Something white swished quickly past him 
and he stared, bewildered . . . She 

had stepped out of nowhere. Page 12 

Saunders looked long and earnestly at his 
face. “He’s the man!” he announced. 

Page 139 

“ God rest her,” Father Murray said after 
what seemed an age to Mark; “ it is not 
Ruth!” Page 198 








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Charred Wood 

CHAPTER I 

THE LADY OF THE TREE 

The man lay in the tall grass. Behind him 
the wall of the Killimaga estate, from its begin- 
ning some fifty yards to his left, stretched away 
to his right for over a thousand feet. Along 
the road which ran almost parallel with the 
wall was the remnant of what had once been 
a great woods; yearly the county authorities 
determined to cut away its thick undergrowth 
— and yearly left it alone. On the left the 
road was bare for some distance along the bluff; 
then, bending, it again sought the shelter of 
the trees and meandered along until it lost 
itself in the main street of Sihasset, a village 
large enough to support three banks and, after 
a fashion, eight small churches. In front, had 
the lounger cared to look, he would have seen 
the huge rocks topping the bluff against which 


10 


Charred Wood 


the ocean dashed itself into angry foam. But 
the man didn’t care to look — for in the little 
clearing between the wall of Killimaga and the 
bluff road was peace too profound to be wan- 
tonly disturbed by motion. And so he lay there 
lazily smoking his cigar, his long length con- 
cealed by the tall grass. 

Hearing a slight click behind him and to 
his right, the man slowly, even languidly, 
turned his head to peer through the grass. 
But his energy was unrewarded, for he saw 
nothing he had not seen before — a long wall, 
its rough stones half hidden by creeping vines, 
at its base a rank growth of shrubs and wild 
hedge; behind it, in the near distance, the 
towers of a house that, in another land, perched 
amid jutting crags, would have inspired visions 
of far-off days of romance. Even in its New 
England setting the great house held a rugged 
charm, heightened by the big trees which gave 
it a setting of rich green. Some of the trees 
had daringly advanced almost to the wall itself, 
while one — a veritable giant — had seem- 
ingly been caught while just stepping through. 

With a bored sigh, as if even so slight an 


11 


The Lady of the Tree 

effort were too great, the smoker settled him- 
self more comfortably and resumed his indo- 
lent musing. Then he heard the sound again. 
This time he did not trouble to look around. 
Something white swished quickly past him and 
he stared, bewildered. It was a woman, young, 
if her figure were to be trusted. His cigar 
dropped in the grass, and there he let it lie. 
His gaze never left her as she walked on; and 
he could scarcely be blamed, for he was still 
under thirty-five and feminine early twenties 
has an interest to masculine full youth. He 
had never seen anyone quite so charming. And 
so he watched the lady as she walked to the 
edge of the bluff overlooking the sea, and 
turned to the left to go along the pathway 
toward the village. 

Five hundred yards away she was met by a 
tall man wearing a long black coat. Was it 
the priest he had noticed that morning at the 
door of the Catholic church in the village? 
Yes, there was no doubt about that; it was 
the priest. He had just lifted his hat to the 
lady and was now turning to walk back with 
her by the way he had come. They evidently 


12 


Charred Wood 


knew each other well; and the man watching 
them almost laughed at himself when he 
realized that he was slightly piqued at the 
clergyman’s daring to know her while he did 
not. He watched the pair until they disap- 
peared around the bend of the bluff path. 
Then he settled back to look for his cigar. 
But he did not find it, for other matters quickly 
absorbed his attention. 

From out a clump of bushes on his left, 
where they evidently had been hiding, two 
men appeared. He recognized them both. 
One was a book agent who was stopping at the 
hotel in the village; the other was the local 
constable. The book agent had a paper in 
his hand. 

That her? ” he asked. 

“Yaas, sir!” — the constable was surely a 
native New Englander — “I seed her face 
plain.” 

“ I didn’t,” said the agent, with annoyance. 

I have never seen her without that con- 
founded veil. This is the first time she’s had 
it thrown back. But the description is right? 
Look at it.” 



Something white swished quickly past him and 
he stared, bewildered . . . She had stepped out 

of nowhere. 



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13 


The Lady of the Tree 

He showed the paper to the constable, tap- 
ping it as he read. 

^ Brown hair, blue eyes ’ — did you see her 
eyes?’’ 

‘‘I sure did,” answered the constable; “and 
they wuz blue.” 

“ All right, then. ‘ Blue eyes, regular fea- 
tures ’ — how about that? ” 

“ Reg’lar enough,” said the constable. “ She’d 
no pug nose, I kin tell ya that.” 

“ ^ Regular features,’ then, is right. ^ Five 
feet four inches tall ’ — that’s right. ^ Small 
hands and feet ’ — that’s right. ^ About twenty- 
three years old; good figure.’ ” 

“ She sure hez all them,” vouchsafed the 
wearer of the star. “ I knowed her right away, 
and I’ve seed her often. She’s been in Sihasset 
well nigh on a month.” 

“ But where — ” the agent turned to look at 
the unbroken wall — “ where in thunder did 
she come from?” 

The constable, pushing back his helmet, 
scratched his head. 

“ Damfino,” he said. “ That’s the rub. 
There’s no gate on this side of Killimaga.” 


.14 


Charred Wood 


Killimaga?’’ 

“ A rich old Irishman built it and put a 
wall around it, too. We folks of Sihasset don’t 
like that; it shuts off the view of the house and 
lawn. Lawn’s what makes things purty. He 
wuz a queer old mug — wanted to shut his- 
self up.” 

‘‘ But how did she get out? ” insisted the 
agent, coming back to the issue. 

Search me,” offered the constable. He 
looked toward the top of the wall. Clumb 
the fence, mebbe.” 

“With her dress looking as it does?” 

“ There’s no other way. I dunno.” 

The agent was puzzled. “ I want a closer 
inspection of that wall. We’ll walk along this 
side.” 

Both agent and contable started off, keeping 
well behind the wild hedge along the wall 
so that they might not be seen from the bluff 
road. 

The man lying in the grass was more puzzled 
than the agent. Why a book agent and a 
constable should be so anxious about a lady who 
was — well, just charming — but who had her- 


15 


The Lady of the Tree 

self stepped out of nowhere to join a priest 
in his walk, was a problem for some study. He 
got up and walked to the wall. Then he 
laughed. Close examination showed him marks 
in the giant tree, the vertical cuts being clev- 
erly covered by the bark, while the horizontal 
ones had creepers festooned over them. A 
door was well concealed. But the tree? It 
was large, yet there could not be room in it 
for more than one person, who would have to 
stand upright and in a most uncomfortable 
position. The man himself had been before 
it over an hour. How long had the lady been 
in the tree? He forgot his lost cigar in trying 
to figure the problem out. 

Mark Griffin had never liked problems. That 
was one reason why he found himself now 
located in a stuffy New England inn just at 
the end of the summer season when all the 

boarders ” had gone except himself and the 
book agent. 

Griffin himself, though the younger son of an 
Irish peer, had been born in England. The 
home ties were not strong and when his brother 
succeeded to the title and estates in. Ireland, 


16 


Charred Wood 


Mark, who had inherited a fortune from his 
mother, went to live with his powerful Eng- 
lish relatives. For a while he thought of going 
into the army, but he knew he was a dunce 
in mathematics, so he soon gave up the idea. 
He tried Oxford, but failed there for the same 
reason. Then he just drifted. Now, still on 
the sunny side of thirty-five, he was knocking 
about, sick of things, just existing, and fear- 
fully bored. He had dropped into Sihasset 
through sheer curiosity — just to see a typical 
New England summer resort where the Yankee 
type had not yet entirely disappeared. Now 
that the season was over he simply did not 
care to pull out for New York and continue 
his trip to — nowhere. He was “ seeing ” 
America. It might take months and it might 
take years. He did not care. Then England 
again by way of Japan and Siberia — perhaps. 
He never wanted to lose sight of that “ per- 
haps,” which was, after all, his only guarantee 
of independence. 

Siberia suited Mark Griffin’s present mood, 
which was to be alone. He had never married, 
never even been in love, at least, not since 


17 


The Lady of the Tree 

boyhood. Of course, that had been mere puppy 
love. Still, it was something to look back to 
and sigh over. He liked to think that he 
could still feel a sort of consoling sadness at 
the thought of it. He, a timid, dreaming boy, 
had loved a timid, dreaming girl. Her brother 
broke up the romance by taunting Mark who, 
with boyish bashfulness, avoided her after that. 
Then her parents moved to London and Mark 
was sent to school. After school he had 
traveled. For the last ten years England had 
been merely a place to think of as home. He 
had been in India, and South America, and 
Canada — up on the Yukon. He would have 
stayed there, but somebody suggested that he 
might be a remittance man. Ye gods! a remit- 
tance man with ten thousand pounds a year! 
And who could have had much more, for Mark 
Griffin was a master with his pen. His imag- 
ination glowed, and his travels had fanned it 
into flame. Every day he wrote, but burned 
the product next morning. What was the use? 
He had plenty to live on. Why write another 
man out of a job? And who could be a writer 
with an income of ten thousand pounds a year? 


18 


Charred Wood 


But, just the same, it added to Mark Griffin’s 
self-hatred to think that it was the income that 
made him useless. Yet he had only one real 
failure checked against him — the one at Ox- 
ford. But he knew — and he did not deceive 
himself — why there had been no others. He 
had never tried. 

But there was one thing in Mark’s favor, too. 
In spite of his wandering, in spite of the men 
and women of all kinds he had met, he was 
clean. There was a something in the memory 
of his mother — and in the memory, too, of 
that puppy love of his — that had made him a 
fighter against himself. 

The great courage that is worth while 
before God,” his mother used to say, is the 
courage to run away from the temptation to be 
unclean. It is the only time you have the 
right to be a coward. That sort of cowardice 
is true courage/^ 

Besides her sweet face, that advice was the 
great shining memory he had of his mother, 
and when he began to wander and meet tempta- 
tions, he found himself treasuring it as his 
best and dearest memory of her. True, he 


19 


The Lady of the Tree 

had missed her religion — had lost what little 
he had had of it — but he had kept her talis- 
man to a clean life. 

His lack of religion worried him, though 
he had really never known much about his 
family’s form of it. For that his mother’s 
death, early boarding school, and his father’s 
worse than indifference, were responsible. But 
as he grew older he felt vaguely that he had 
missed something the quality of which he had 
but tasted through the one admonition of his 
mother that he had treasured. His nature was 
full of reverence. His soul burned to respond 
to the call of faith, but something rebelled. 
He had read everything, and was humble 
enough to acknowledge that he knew little. 
He had given up the struggle to believe. Noth- 
ing seemed satisfactory. It worried him to 
think that he had reached such a conclusion, 
but he was consoled by the thought that many 
men had been of his way of thinking. He 
hoped this would prove excuse enough, but 
found it was not excuse enough for him. Here 
he was, rich, noble, with the English scales 
of caste ofif his eyes, doing nothing, indolent. 


20 


Charred Wood 


loving only a memory, indifferent but still see- 
ing a saving something of his mother and his 
child love in every woman to whom he spoke. 

Now something else, yet something not so 
very different, had suddenly stepped into his 
life, and he knew it. The something was 
dressed in white and had stepped out of a 
tree. It was almost laughable. This woman 
had come into his dreams. The very sight of 
her attracted him — or was it the manner of 
her coming? She was just like an ideal he had 
often made for himself. Few men meet even 
the one who looks like the ideal, but he had 
seen the reality — coming out of a tree. He 
kept on wondering how long she had been 
there. He himself had been dreaming in front 
of the tree an hour before he saw her. Had 
she seen him before she came out? She had 
given no sign; but if she had seen him, she 
had trusted him with a secret. M^rk looked 
at the tree. It was half embedded in the wall. 
Then he understood. The tree masked a secret 
entrance to Killimaga. 

He was still smiling over his discovery when 
he heard the voices of the agent and constable. 


21 


The Lady of the Tree 

They were coming back, so he dropped into 
his hiding place in the tall grass. 

Well, Brown,” the agent was saying, “ I am 
going to tackle her. IVe got to see that face. 
It’s the only way! If I saw it once. I’d know 
for sure from the photograph they sent me.” 

“ Ye’d better not,” advised the constable. 

She might be a-scared before — ” 

“ But I’ve got to be sure,” interrupted the 
agent. 

“Aw, ye’re sure enough, ain’t ye? There’s 
the photygraft, and I seed her.” 

“ But she slipped me in Boston, and I nearly 
lost the trail. I can’t take chances on this 
job — it’s too important — and I’ve got to 
report something pretty soon. That damn veil! 
She always has it on.” 

“ Yep, she had it when she come down here, 
too, and when she tuk the house. All right, 
see her if ye can! Ye’re the jedge. She’s 
coming around the bend of the road now.” 
The constable was peering out from his hiding 
place among the bushes. 

“ Is the priest with her? ” asked the agent. 

“ He’s gone back to the village. She didn’t 


22 


Charred Wood 


go that far — she seldom does. But he goes 
to see her; and she goes to his church on 
Sundays.” 

I wonder if he knows anything?” 

Trust that gent to know most everything, 
I guess.” The constable was very positive. 
Father Murray’s nobody’s fool,” he added, 
and she won’t talk to nobody else. I’ll bet a 
yearlin’ heifer he’s on; but nobody could drag 
nothing out of him.” 

I know that,” said the agent. I’ve been 
up there a dozen times, and I’ve talked with 
him by the hour — but always about books; I 
couldn’t get him to talk about anything else. 
Here she is! Go on back.” 

The constable disappeared behind the bushes, 
and his companion stood out in the little clear- 
ing to wait. 

The woman saw him; Mark, watching from 
the long grass, thought she hesitated. Then 
she dropped her veil and came on. The agent 
stepped forward, and the woman seemed dis- 
tressed. What the agent intended to do Mark 
could not guess, but he made up his mind at 
once as to what he would do himself. He 


23 


The Lady of the Tree 

arose and, just as the agent met the lady, Mark’s 
arm went through his and he — not of his own 
volition — turned to face the ocean. 

Hellp, Saunders!” Mark said heartily. 

Who’d expect to see you here, with no one 
near to buy rare editions?” 

Saunders looked at him with annoyance, but 
Mark was friendly. He slipped his arm out 
of the agent’s and slapped him on the shoulder. 

Look out at that sea, you old money- 
grabber. There’s a sight for your soul. Did 
you ever think of the beauty of it? Such a day! 
— no wonder you’re loafing. Oh! I beg your 
pardon. Madam. I am in your way.” 

Keeping Saunders’ back to the lady, Mark 
stepped aside to let her pass. Saunders could 
not even look back, as she walked quickly 
behind them. The agent stammered a reply 
to Mark’s unwelcome greeting before he turned. 
But it was too late, for Mark heard the click 
that told him that the tree had closed. He 
looked for the constable, to see if he had been 
watching her and had discovered the secret 
door; but the constable was leisurely walking 
toward the village. 


CHAPTER II 


MONSIGNORE 

As the two men walked along, Mark Griffin, 
tall and of athletic build, offered a sharp con- 
trast to the typical American beside him. With 
his gray tweeds, Mark, from his cap to shoes, 
seemed more English than Irish, and one 
instinctively looked for the monocle — but in 
vain, for the Irish-gray eyes, deep-set under 
the heavy straight brows, disdained artifice as 
they looked half-seriously, though also a bit 
roguishly, out upon the world. The brown 
hair clustered in curls above the tanned face 
with its clear-cut features, the mouth firm 
under the aquiline nose, the chin slightly 
squared — the face of one who would seek 
and find. 

He looked at his companion, clad in a neat- 
fitting business suit of blue, his blond hair 
combed straight back under the carelessly-tilted 
Alpine, and felt that the smaller man was one 

24 


Monsignore 25 

not to be despised. “ A man of brains,” thought 
Mark, as he noted the keen intelligent look 
from the blue eyes set in a face that, though 
somewhat irregular in feature, bespoke strong 
determination. 

Mentally, the two men were matched. Should 
they ever be pitted against each other, it would 
be impossible for anyone to determine offhand 
which would be the victor. 

The agent was disposed to be surly during 
the walk to the hotel, for he had become sus- 
picious. Why had the fool Englishman done 
this thing? Did he know, or suspect that the 
supposed book agent was really a detective? 
Did he know the woman? Was he in her con- 
fidence? How had she disappeared so quickly? 

Saunders found it difficult to keep up even 
a semblance of interest in the conversation, for 
Mark gave him little time to think. He plied 
him with friendly questions until the detective 
wondered if his companion were a fool, or 
someone on the inside.” He wished that 
Mark would stop his chattering long enough 
to let him do the questioning. But Mark 
went right on. 


26 


Charred Wood 


“ How’s the book trade? Bad, I’ll wager, so 
far from town. Why aren’t you working? ” 

Saunders had to think quickly. 

“Oh, I took an afternoon off; business has 
off days, you know.” 

“ Of course. Any success this morning? ” 

“One order. Took me a month to get it — 
from the Padre.” 

“ Ah!” 

Mark gave the word the English sound, 
which convinced the detective that the speaker 
really was a fool who had stumbled into an 
affair he knew nothing about. But Mark kept 
up his questioning. 

“ Did you get to talk much with the Padre? 
You know, he interests me. By the way, why 
do you call him by that Spanish name?” 

“ Oh, I got into the habit in the Philippines; 
that’s what they call a priest there. I was a 
soldier, you know. Did you ever meet him?” 

“No; but I’d like to.” 

“ Perhaps I could introduce you.” They 
were walking through the village now, and 
Saunders glanced toward the rectory. “ There 
he is.” 


Monsignore 27 

The chance to get away attracted Saunders; 
and nothing suited Mark better than to meet 
the priest at that very time. 

‘‘Certainly,” he said; “I’d be glad if you 
introduced me. I’ll stop only a moment, and 
then go on to the hotel with you.” 

But this did not suit Saunders. 

“Oh, no; you must talk to the Padre. He’s 
your kind. You’ll like him. I can’t wait, 
though, so I’ll have to leave you there.” 

“ By the way,” Mark went on with his ques- 
tioning, “isn’t the Padre rather — well, old — 
to be in such a small and out-of-the-way place? 
You know I rather thought that, in his church, 
priests as old as he were in the larger parishes.” 

“ Why, you couldn’t have been listening much 
to gossip since you came down here — not very 
much,” said Saunders. “ The Padre is here 
by choice — but only partially by choice.” 

“By choice, but only partially by choice?” 
Mark was curious by this time. “ I don’t quite 
understand.” 

Saunders smiled knowingly, and dropped his 
voice. 

“ It’s like this,” he whispered. “ The Padre 


28 


Charred Wood 


was a big man in the city six months ago. He 
was what they call a vicar general — next job 
to the bishop, you know. He was a great 
friend of the old Bishop who died three months 
before the Padre came here. A new Bishop 
came — ’’ 

“‘Who knew not Joseph’?’’ 

But the Scripture was lost on the agent. 

“ His name is not Joseph,” he answered 
solemnly, “ but Donald, Donald Murray. I 
read it on the book order I got.” 

“Donald! Funny name for a Catholic,” 
commented Mark. “ It sounds Presbyterian.” 

“ That’s what it is,” said Saunders quickly. 
“ The Padre is a convert to the Catholic 
Church. He was ’way up once, but he lost 
his big job as vicar general, and then he lost 
all his big jobs. I met a priest on the train 
once — a young fellow — who told me, with a 
funny sort of laugh that sounded a bit sad, 
too, that the Bishop had the Padre buried.” 

“ I see,” said Mark, though he didn’t see 
any more than the agent. “ But the priest 
doesn’t take it hard, does he?” 

“ Not that you could notice,” Saunders 


Monsignore 29 

answered. The Padre’s jolly — smart, too 
— and a bookman. He has books enough in 
that little house to start a public library, but 
he’s too poor now to buy many of the kind 
he’s daffy over — old stuff, you know, first 
editions and the like.” 

They crossed the street to the rectory, an 
old-fashioned house nestling among the trees, 
the parapet and pillars of its broad veranda 
almost hidden by a heavy growth of ampelopsis. 
In front of the house, a stretch of well-kept 
lawn was divided from the public walk by a 
hawthorn hedge, and, cutting through its 
velvety green, a wide graveled pathway swept 
up to the steps whose sharp angle with the 
veranda was softened by a mass of low-growing, 
flowering shrubs. To the side, extending 
towards the church, the hedge was tripled, with 
a space of some six feet between. The lower 
branches of the evergreens forming the second 
row were scarcely higher than the hawthorn 
in front; while, in their turn, the evergreens 
were barely topped by the silver maples behind. 
That triple hedge had been the loving care of 
the successive priests for fifty years and served 


30 


Charred Wood 


as an effectual bar to the curiosity of the casual 
passer-by. In the little yard behind its shelter 
the priest could read or doze, free from the 
intrusive gaze of the village. 

Father Murray, who was comfortably read- 
ing on the veranda, arose as his two visitors 
approached. 

Saunders spoke quickly. “ Don’t worry. 
Padre. ^ I ain’t goin’ to get after you again to 
sell you another set. I just thought I’d like 
to have you meet my friend, Mr. Griffin. I 
know you’ll like him. He’s bookish, too, and 
an Englishman. Then, I’m off.” Suiting the 
action to the word, the agent, raising his hat, 
walked down the graveled path and down 
toward the hotel. 

Father Murray took Mark’s hand with a 
friendly grip quite different from the bone- 
crushing handshake he so often met in America. 
Mark gazed thoughtfully at his host. With 
his thin but kindly face and commanding pres- 
ence, the priest seemed almost foreign. What 
Mark saw was a tall — he was six feet at least 
of bone and muscle — and good-looking man, 
with an ascetic nose and mouth; with hair, once 


Monsignore 31 

black, but now showing traces of white, falling 
in thick waves over a broad brow. Mark 
noticed that his cassock was old and faded, but 
that reddish buttons down its front distinguished 
it from the cassocks of other village priests 
he had seen on his travels. 

You are welcome, Mr. Griffin — very wel- 
come.” Mark found Father Murray’s voice 
pleasing. “ Sit down right over there. That 
chair is more comfortable than it looks. I 
call it ‘ Old Hickory ’ because, though it isn’t 
hickory, yet it began life in this old house and 
has outlived three pastors. Smoke? ” 

“ Thanks, I do — but a pipe, you know. I’m 
hopelessly British.” Mark pulled out his pipe 
and a pouch of tobacco. 

Tjurning to the wicker table beside him, the 
priest dug down into an old cigar box filled 
with the odds and ends that smokers accumu- 
late. He found a pipe and filled it from 
Mark’s extended tobacco pouch. 

It’s poor hospitality, Mr. Griffin, to take 
your tobacco; but I offered you a cigar. You 
know, this cigar habit has so grown into me 
that it’s a rare occasion that brings me back 


32 


Charred Wood 


to old times and my pipe.’’ Father Murray 
pressed the tobacco down into the bowl. How 
long are you to be with us, Mr. Griffin? ” 

Mark was dropping into a lazy mood again; 
it was very comfortable on the veranda. 
haven’t fixed a time for going on. I beg your 
pardon, but aren’t those buttons significant? I 
once spent six months in Rome. Aren’t you 
what they call a Monsignore? 

“ Don’t tell them so here, or I’ll lose my 
standing. Yes, I am a prelate, a Domestic 
Prelate to His Holiness. I am afraid it is the 
domesticity of the title that sticks here in Sihas- 
set, rather than the prelacy. My people are 
poor — mostly mill workers. I have never 
shown them the purple. It might frighten 
them out of saying ^ Father.’ ” 

But surely — ” Mark hesitated. 

Oh, yes, I know what you are thinking. I 
did like it at first, but I was younger then, and 
more ambitious. You know, Mr. Griffin, I 
find that the priesthood is something like a 
river. The farther you go from the source 
the deeper and wider it gets; and it’s at its 
best as it nears the ocean. Even when it 


Monsignore 33 

empties into the wider waters, it isn’t quite 
lost. It’s in the beginning that you notice the 
flowers on the bank. Coming toward the end, 
it’s — well, different.” 

“ You are not beginning to think you are 
old?” 

No.” Father Murray was very positive. 
“ I am not old yet; but I’m getting there, for 
I’m forty-five. Only five years until I strike 
the half-century mark. But why talk about 
priests and the priesthood? You are not a 
Catholic? ” 

I don’t know,” said Mark. The differ- 
ence between us religiously. Monsignore, is 
that I was and am not; you were not and 
behold you are.” 

Father Murray looked interested. 

“Yes, yes,” he said; “I am a convert. It 
was long ago, though. I was a young Pres- 
byterian minister, and it’s odd how it came 
about. Newman didn’t get me, though he 
shook his own tree into the Pope’s lap ; I 
wasn’t on the tree. It was Brownson — a 
Presbyterian like myself — who did the busi- 
ness. You don’t know him? Pity! He’s worth 


34 


Charred Wood 


knowing. I got to reading him, and he made 
it so plain that I had to drop. I didn’t want 
to, either — but here I am. Now, Mr. Griffin, 
how did you happen to go the other way? ” 

‘‘ I didn’t go — that is, not deliberately. I 
just drifted. Mother died, and father didn’t 
care, in fact rather opposed; so I just didn’t 
last. Later on, I studied the church and I 
could not see.” 

“ Studied the church? You mean the Cath- 
olic Church?” Father Murray’s mouth hid 
the ghost of a smile. 

“ No, it wasn’t the Catholic Church in par- 
ticular. When we worldlings say ‘ the church,’ 
we mean religion in general, perhaps all Chris- 
tianity in general and all Christians in par- 
ticular.” 

I know.” The priest’s voice held a touch 
of sorrow now. “ I hope you will pardon me, 
Mr. Griffin, if I say one thing that may sound 
controversial — it’s just an observation. I have 
noticed the tendency you speak of; but isn’t 
it strange that when people go looking into the 
question of religion they can deliberately close 
their eyes to a ‘ City set upon a Mountain ’?” 


Monsignore 35 

I don’t quite — ” 

Get me?” Father Murray laughed. I 
know that you wanted to use that particular 
expressive bit of our particularly expressive 
slang. What I mean is this: People study 
religion nowadays — that is, English-speaking 
people — with the Catholic Church left out. 
Yet she claims the allegiance of over three hun- 
dred million people. Without her, Christianity 
would be merely pitiful. She alone stands firm 
on her foundation. She alone has something 
really definite to offer. She has the achieve- 
ments of twenty centuries by which to judge 
her. She has borne, during all those centuries, 
the hatred of the world ; but to-day she is loved, 
too — loved better than anything else on earth. 
She has hugged the worst of her children to 
her breast, has borne their shame that she 
might save them, because she is a mother; yet 
she has saints to show by the thousands. She 
has never been afraid to speak — always has 
spoken ; but the ages have not trapped her. She 
is the biggest, most wonderful, most myste- 
rious, most awful thing on earth; and yet, as 
you say, those who study religion ignore her. 


36 


Charred Wood 


I couldn’t, and I have been through the mill.” 

Mark shifted a little uneasily. “ I can’t 
ignore her,” he said, “ but I am just a little 
bit afraid of her.” 

“ Ah, yes.” The priest caught his pipe by 
the bowl and used the stem to emphasize his 
words. “ I felt that way, too. I like you, Mr. 
Griffin, and so I am going to ask you not to 
mind if I tell you something that I have never 
told anyone before. I was afraid of her. I 
hated her. I struggled, and almost cursed her. 
She was too logical. She was leading me 
where I did not want to go. But when I came 
she put her arms around me; and wffien I looked 
at her, she smiled. I came in spite of many 
things; and now, Mr. Griffin, I pay. I am 
alone, and I pay always. Yet I am glad to 
pay. I am glad to pay — even here — in 
Sihasset.” 

Mark was moved in spite of himself. “ I 
wonder,” he said softly, if you are glad. Mon- 
signore, to pay so much? Pardon me if I 
touch upon something raw; but I know that 
you were, even as a Catholic, higher than you 
are now. Doesn’t that make it hard to pay? ” 


Monsignore 37 

‘‘To many it might appear that it would 
make things harder; but it doesn’t. You have 
to be inside in order to understand it. The 
Church takes you, smiling. She gives to you 
generously, and then, with a smile, she breaks 
you; and, hating to be broken, you break, know- 
ing that it is best for you. She pets you, and 
then she whips you; and the whips sting, but 
they leave no mark on the soul, except a good 
mark, if you have learned. But pardon me, 
here’s a parishioner — ” A woman, old and 
bent, was coming up the steps. “ Come on, 
Mrs. O’Leary. How is the good man? ” 

The priest arose to meet the woman, whose 
sad face aroused in Mark a keen thrill of 
sympathy. 

“He’s gone, Father,” she said, “gone this 
minute. I thank God he had you with him this 
morning, and went right. It came awful 
sudden.” 

“ God rest him. I’m sorry — ” 

“ Don’t be sorry. Father,” she answered, as 
he opened the door to let her go into the house 
ahead of him. “ Sure, God was good to me, 
and to John and to the childer. Sure, I had 


38 


Charred Wood 


him for thirty year, and he died right. I’m 
happy to do God’s will.” 

She passed into the house. The priest looked 
over to where Mark was standing hat in hand. 

“ Don’t go, Mr. Griffin, unless you really 
have to. I’ll be away only a few minutes.” 

Mark sat dovm again and thought. The 
priest had said nothing about the lady of the 
tree, and Mark really wanted him to mention 
her; but Father Murray had given him some- 
thing else that made him thoughtful and 
brought back memories. Mark did not have 
long to wait, for the door opened in five min- 
utes and the priest came out alone. 

Mrs. O’Leary came to arrange for the 
funeral herself — brave, wasn’t it?” he said. 

I left her with Ann, my housekeeper, a good 
soul whose specialty is one in which the Irish 
excel — sympathy. Ann keeps it in stock and, 
though she is eternally drawing on it, the stock 
never diminishes. Mrs. O’Leary’s troubles are 
even now growing less.” 

Sympathy and loyalty,” said Mark, are 
chief virtues of the Irish I knew at home.” 

“ Ann has both,” said Father Murray, hunt- 


Monsignore 39 

ing for his pipe. “ But the latter to an embar- 
rassing degree. She would even run the parish 
if she could, to see that it was run to save me 
labor. Ann has been a priest’s housekeeper for 
twenty-five years. She has condoled with hun- 
dreds; she loves the poor but has no patience 
with shams. We have a chronic sick man here 
who is her particular bHe noir. And, as for 
organists, she would cheerfully drown them all. 
But Mrs. O’Leary is safe with Ann.” 

Poor woman! ” said Mark. 

‘^That reminds me,” said Father Murray. 

I had a convert priest here a little while ago. 
His Bishop had sent him for his initial ‘ break- 
ing in ’ to one of the poorest parishes in a great 
city. I questioned a little the advisability of 
doing that; so, after six months, when I met 
the priest — who, by the way, had been a fash- 
ionable minister like myself — I asked him 
rather anxiously how he liked his people. 

^ Charming people,’ he answered, ^ charming. 
Charming women, too — Mrs. O’Rourke, Mrs. 
Sweeney, Mrs. Thomasefski — ’ ‘You speak 
of them,’ I said, ‘ as if they were society ladies.’ 

‘ Better — better still,’ he answered. ‘ They’re 


40 


Charred Wood 


the real thing — fewer faults, more faith, more 
devotion.’ I tell you, Mr. Griffin, I never 
before met people such as these.” 

Mrs. O’Leary seems to have her pastor’s 
philosophy,” ventured the visitor. 

‘‘Philosophy! That would seem a compli- 
ment indeed to Mrs. O’Leary. She wouldn’t 
understand it, but she would recognize it as 
something fine. It isn’t philosophy, though,” 
he added, slowly; “rather, it’s something big- 
ger. It’s real religion.” 

“ She needs it! ” 

“ So do we all need it. I never knew how 
much until I was so old that I had to weep 
for the barren years that might have bloomed.” 
The priest sighed as he hunted for his pipe. 

The discussion ended for, to Mark’s amaze- 
ment, who should come up the walk, veiled 
indeed, yet unmistakable, but the lady of the 
tree? Both the priest and his visitor stood up. 
Mark reached for his hat and gloves. 

“ Pardon me,” said the lady, “ for disturb- 
ing you. Monsignore.” 

Father Murray laughed and put up his hand. 
“Now, then — please, please.” 


Monsignore 41 

Well, Father, then. I like it better, any- 
way. I heard that poor man is dead. Can I 
do anything? ’’ 

“ I think you can,” said Father Murray. 
“Will you step in?” 

“No, Father; let me sit here.” She looked 
at Mark, who stood waiting to make his adieux. 
There was no mistaking the look, and the priest 
understood at once. Plainly astonished, he 
introduced Mark. The lady bowed and smiled. 
As she sat down, she raised her veil. Mark 
gazed timidly into her face. Though she was 
seemingly unconscious of the gaze, yet a flush 
crept up under the fair skin, and the low voice 
faltered for an instant as she addressed him. 

“ I am a stranger here, like yourself, I fancy, 
Mr. Griffin,” she ventured, “ but I have to 
thank you for a service.” 

Mark was scarcely listening. He was won- 
dering if, underneath the drooping brim of her 
hat, amongst the curling tendrils of golden- 
brown hair, there might not be a hint of red 
to show under the sunlight. He was thinking, 
too, how pretty was the name, Ruth Atheson. 
It was English enough to make him think of 


42 


Charred Wood 


her under certain trees in a certain old park 
of boyhood’s days. 

Do you know each other? ” Father Murray 
was evidently still more astonished. 

^‘Not exactly,” she said; “but Mr. GrifEn 
has quick discernment, and is unhesitating in 
action. He saw someone about to — make him- 
self, let us say, unpleasant — and he moved 
promptly. I am glad of this chance to thank 
him.” 

Mark hoped she would not try. The heavily 
lashed eyes of violet blue, under the graceful 
arches, were doing that splendidly. Mark was 
uneasy under the gaze of them, but strangely 
glad. He wanted to go and yet to stay; but 
he knew that it was proper to go. 

Father Murray walked with him to the end 
of the lawn. 

“ There was nothing serious in the matter to 
which Miss Atheson referred, Mr. Griffin?” 
he said. “No one offered insult?” He was 
plainly anxious. 

“ Not at all,” answered Mark. “ I think the 
man only wanted to stare. I gave him a chance 
to stare at me — and at the water. That is all.” 


Monsignore 43 

Father Murray looked relieved as he clasped 
Mark’s hand. 

Good-bye,” he said. Come to see me 
again. I am usually alone. Come often. The 
latch-string is where you can reach it.” 

In the street Mark met Saunders, but this 
time it was the agent who wanted to talk. 

How did you like the Padre?” he began. 

“ Splendid. Thank you for the meeting.” 

Did you see the lady who went in? ” 

^^Yes; I was introduced.” 

Introduced? Never! ” 

Why not?” 

Well,” the agent was confused, “ I don’t 
see why not after all. Did you see her face? ” 

“ She had on a veil.” 

“Of course; she always has. She was the 
woman who passed us on the bluff road.” 

“You saw her, then?” 

“Yes, I saw her; but not close enough to 
know whether — ” 

“ What?” 

“ I think she is someone I know. Are you 
coming back to the hotel?” 


CHAPTER III 


UNDER SUSPICION 

That night, tossing in bed, Mark Griffin 
found the lady of the tree occupying the center 
of his thoughts. He had to acknowledge to 
himself the simple truth, that she interested 
him more than any other woman he had ever 
seen; and he had a vague idea that he had 
met her before — but where? He was wise 
enough to know where such interest would ulti- 
mately lead him. The more he worried about 
it, the more a cause for worry it became. The 
very idea was foolish. He had seen her twice, 
had spoken to her once. Yes, she was charm- 
ing; but he had known others almost as charm- 
ing and he had not even been interested. Now 
he might go deeper — and what of the risks? 

Saunders was certainly shadowing the wom- 
an. The town constable was constantly with 
him, seemingly ready to make an arrest the 
moment the detective was sure of his ground. 

44 


Under Suspicion 45 

It was easy to figure that out. Worse than 
all, the woman was afraid — or why the veil? 
Why the secret door through a tree? Why 
her embarrassment when she faced the danger 
of having the detective see her face? 

On the other hand, she was a friend of the 
priest, and Mark had formed a very favorable 
opinion of Father Murray. Then she had 
referred to the incident on the bluff road very 
openly and without embarrassment. These 
things were in her favor, but — well, the rest 
looked bad. Above all was the danger of fall- 
ing in love with her. 

Mark thought of his people in England and 
of his brother the Irish peer. He knew their 
prejudices. What would they say if the heir 
presumptive to the barony came home with an 
American wife? Yet why should he care? 

The worry about Saunders came back. He 
was undoubtedly a detective, and surely detect- 
ives did not without cause shadow ladies of 
good social standing? Mark knew there was 
something wrong. He knew there was danger 
to himself, to his heart, and to his peace; so he 
decided that he had better go away at once. 


46 


Charred Vv^ood 


Then the face he had seen as she stepped past 
him out of the tree rose up, and he heard 
again the voice that had in it so much gratitude 
when she thanked him for his little service. 

“ Damn it, man,’^ he said to himself, “ you 
can’t be a coward! She needs help; stay to 
give it.” That was Mark’s first and last strug- 
gle over his long-delayed moving problem. 

He met Saunders at breakfast the next morn- 
ing. The detective must have been thinking, 
too, for his glance at Mark held a trifle of 
suspicion. Mark was too old a student of 
human nature to miss the significance of the 
look, and Saunders was too young at his busi- 
ness entirely to conceal his own feelings. He 
tried — but too late — and was foolish enough 
to think he had not betrayed himself. 

Mark made up his mind to profit by the 
suspicion. 

Good morning, Saunders. You are think- 
ing of the lady in the veil? ” 

But Saunders was already back in his shell. 
He looked puzzled. “Veil? Lady? Oh, yes. 
Sure I am. It would be very ungallant to for- 
get her. She’s too pretty.” 


Under Suspicion 47 

How do you know? You didn’t see her 
face.” 

I was just guessing. We Yankees are good 
at guessing. Don’t you English concede that? ” 

Guessing and wooden nutmegs,” said Mark, 
“ both go with the Yankee character.” 

Guessing, wooden nutmegs, and a little taste 
of Brand 3 rwine thrown in for flavor.” 

Very unkind of you to throw our defeats 
in our teeth — and especially into mine; for 
you know that I am half Irish, and we Irish 
helped you.” 

Saunders laughed as they approached the 
desk together. 

Letter for you, Mr. Griffin,” said the clerk, 
throwing a square envelope on the desk. 

Saunders just glanced at it before Mark him- 
self saw that the letter was without a stamp; 
it had come by messenger. The detective 
turned his back to hide a smile, then walked 
to the reading table and picked up a paper. 

Mark opened his letter. It was from the lady 
of the tree — only a few lines — an invitation to 
tea that afternoon at the house behind the great 
wall. Twice he read it over. 


48 


Charred Wood 


Dear Mr. Griffin: Monsignore is 
coming to tea at four o’clock to-day. 
Won’t you come with him? He likes 
you — that I know — and he always 
looks lonesome when he comes alone, 
with only two women to talk to. 

Sincerely, 

Ruth Atheson.” 

That was all. The letter went into Mark’s 
pocket as he saw Saunders looking over the top 
of his paper. 

“ Getting acquainted in Sihasset pretty 
quickly, eh?” ventured the detective. 

Yes,” replied Mark, bad pays get 
acquainted fast.” The reply was obviously inad- 
equate, but Mark wanted the detective to know. 
Saunders took the bait, hook and all. 

“ Sihasset’s getting up in the world,” he com- 
mented. “ Square, tinted envelopes for bills 
were just coming in at New York two weeks 
ago.” 

Both gentlemen were evidently quite pleased 
with themselves. Saunders took the cigar 
Mark offered, and they sat talking over first 
editions until ten. 


Under Suspicion 49 

“ Going out? ’’ Saunders asked, as Mark 
threw away his cigar and rose. Something in 
his tone made Mark think he wanted him to 
go. Why? 

Just for a little while. Want to go? ” 

No, I’m going to write letters. I’ll go out 
later.” 

Mark understood. Saunders suspected him 
to be an accomplice of the woman and intended 
to search his room. Mark thought quickly. 
Immediate action was necessary; there were 
important papers in his room, and he didn’t 
care to have his identity known just now. Then 
he smiled cheerfully, for his whole plan of 
action was suddenly clear. Not only would he 
guard his papers, but he’d keep the detective 
guessing — guessing hard. He walked to the 
desk and addressed the. clerk: 

Has any of the town banks a safety deposit 
vault for the public?” 

“ Yes, sir. The National has one and its terms 
are very reasonable.” 

Mark went to his room, and carefully gath- 
ered every scrap of paper. The useless went 
into the old stove which had stood all summer 


so 


Charred Wood 


waiting the winter’s need; the others he care- 
fully placed in his pocket. Then he went out. 
At the bank he rented a box and left the papers 
he didn’t want Saunders to see. He felt sat- 
isfied that nothing Saunders found would 
relieve him of suspicion. The burning of the 
papers would make the detective all the more 
certain that Mark ought to be watched. That 
would help Miss Atheson by keeping the detect- 
ive on the wrong scent. 

At noon Mark went to his room to wash 
before lunch. Saunders had not been very 
clever. There was a tell-tale smudge on the 
stove — a smudge made by a hand that had 
blackened itself by diving down into the ashes 
to search among the burned papers. Mark 
knew that Saunders had lost no time in search- 
ing his room, and he was happy to be still 
under suspicion. 

But Mark was not so happy in contemplating 
the rest of the situation. He was getting deeper 
into a game he knew nothing about. What 
was the reason for the suspicion against the 
girl? Could she be a thief — or worse? Mark 
had heard of pretty criminals before, and he 


51 


Under Suspicion 

knew that beauty without is no guarantee of 
virtue within. But he had resolved to go 
through with the adventure, and he would not 
change his mind. He argued, too, that it was 
not entirely the beauty of Ruth Atheson that 
interested him. There was an indefinable 
“ something else.” Anyhow, innocent or guilty, 
he made up his mind to stand by her. 

At lunch he met Saunders again and found 
him overly friendly, even anxious to talk. The 
detective opened the conversation. 

Going to see the Padre again?” 

I have an engagement with him this after- 
noon. I rather like the Padre!” 

Sure you do,” said the detective. “ Every- 
body does. The Padre’s a wonder, and the last 
man one might expect to find in a little parish 
like this.” 

Mark wanted to learn more on that score. 

“ True enough,” he said. “ In the Anglican 
Church they would make such a man a bishop, 
or at least a dean.” 

Well, they didn’t do that with the Padre.” 
The detective shook his head as if to express 
his regret that something of the kind had not 


52 


Charred Wood 


been done. “ He was the right hand man of 
the old Bishop of the diocese; but the new 
Bishop had to have new counselors. That’s one 
way of the world that the church fellows have 
gotten into. Some say that it broke the Padre’s 
heart, but he doesn’t look it. Must have hurt 
him a little, though. Human nature is human 
nature — and after all he did for the Church, 
too.” 

Did he do so much?” questioned Mark. 

“Sure he did! You saw the Cathedral, 
didn’t you, when you passed through the city? 
Well, the Padre built that, and the big college, 
too, the one you see from the train. He was 
president of the college. He was the life and 
soul of the Catholic Church in this section.” 

“Why was he dropped?” 

“ Search me,” offered the detective. “ No 
one knows that except the Bishop, I guess. 
Padre came here six months ago. Some of the 
young priests used to come to see him, but 
seldom any of the older ones. I got all I know 
from one of those young chaps — the one I told 
you I met on the train. He almost cried over 
the affair.” 


Under Suspicion 53 

It’s sad enough to make any friend cry 
over it,” said Mark; “but somehow it makes 
the man seem bigger to me.” 

“True.” Saunders was clearly the Padre’s 
admirer. “ They say he had the best pulpit 
in London before he went over to the Catholics 
— big salary, and all that. Then he had to 
begin all over again as a layman. Went to 
school, by gosh ! — dead game ! But when they 
made him a priest he jumped right to the front. 
His last money went into the college he built. 
He has onl}^ five hundred a year to live on 
now. You know, Griffin, if it wasn’t for the 
rotten way the Church treated him, I honestly 
believe the Padre could put some religion into 
me. He’s a power here already. Look at the 
way he makes that girl at Killimaga work.” 

It seemed to Mark that the detective was 
beginning to fence again. 

“She’s a stranger, isn’t she?” he asked. 

The detective half closed his eyes. “ How 
do you know? ” 

“You told me so.” 

Saunders blew a thoughtful smoke ring. 

“ I guess I did. You know, of course, Killi- 


54 


Charred Wood 


maga was rented to her about the time Padre 
came here. The old Irishman who built it, 
died, and his family went over to your country 
to buy a title for their only daughter. The 
girl up there must be a rich one to rent such 
an estate; and, Griffin, that old Irishman had 
taste, believe me. His gardens are a wonder. 
Ever see them?” 

No.” 

^‘Try to; they’re worth while. This girl 
spends her money and herself on the Padre’s 
charities. He directs, and she does things for 
the mill people. By gad, Griffin, they just 
love her! I passed her just now going into 
O’Leary’s. The old man was crushed at the 
mill, and died yesterday. It’s dollars to dough- 
nuts she takes care of that family all winter. 
Where she gets the money is beyond me.” 

“You Americans are all rich,” said Mark. 

“ You English think we are, but you only see 
the gang that goes over to the other side every 
summer. There’s one Atheson family in Amer- 
ica worth millions, but I know that crowd; 
she doesn’t belong to it. I don’t know what 
Atheson family she does belong to. She’s a 


Under Suspicion 5S 

mystery, with her Killimaga and her money 
and her veil.” 

‘‘Why,” said Mark, “every woman wears 
a veil — the sun, you know.” 

“Yes; the sun, and the rain, and the shade, 
and every kind of weather!” 

The detective’s face was betraying him again. 
But the luncheon was over, and Mark would 
not be probed. He had made up his mind to 
go early to the rectory, so he left Saunders 
with a parting shot: 

“You’d better go on with the book sales. 
You’ve loafed all day. That’s bad business 
policy for a Yankee. What would your wooden 
nutmeg ancestors say to that?” 

Saunders grinned, 

“ They wouldn’t like it,” he answered. 
“ They’re not like ancestors who wouldn’t have 
been able to sell even a real nutmeg.” 

Mark acknowledged that in repartee Saun- 
ders scored, then went out to make his way 
toward the rectory. As he passed the First 
National Bank he saw the constable talking 
to the cashier. 


CHAPTER IV 


KILLIMAGA 

Father Murray was sitting in his favorite 
chair on the rectory veranda when Mark came 
up the lawn. He rose with a welcome. 

“ You must pardon me, Father,” began 
Mark, ‘‘ for coming so soon after your noon 
meal — ” Mark hesitated about saying lunch- 
eon,” not knowing the habits of the rectory — 
“ but, frankly, I wanted to talk to you 
before — ” 

“ Before we go to Killimaga,” supplied 
Father Murray as Mark paused. “Yes, I 
know that you are invited. Sit down and open 
up. I am always glad to talk — and to listen, 
too. What is it? ” 

Again Mark hesitated. “ It’s to ask about 
Miss Atheson.” 

Father Murray’s eyes smiled. “ I thought 
so,” he said. “What do you want to know?” 

Mark hesitated. “ I know that the lady is 
56 


Killimaga 57 

very charitable and kind, but especially so to 
anyone whom you suggest. You must, there- 
fore, be interested in anything that concerns 
her.” 

I am,” said Father Murray. Very much 
interested.” 

Mark thought he noticed a new and half- 
suspicious note in the priest’s voice, and was 
distressed. He felt like blaming himself for 
having mentioned the subject. He feared he 
had lost ground with his new-made friend; 
but, having started the discussion, Mark was 
determined to go through with it. 

“ It’s just this way. Father,” he said. “ I 
think you ought to know that there is someone 
besides yourself interested in Miss Atheson. 
The incident she mentioned yesterday seemed 
a small one, but — well, I had to move pretty 
quick to keep that man from making himself 
obnoxious. He had a photograph in his hand 
and was determined to see her face in orde-r 
to make comparisons. Incidentally, the con- 
stable was with him.” 

Mark, watching closely to note the effect of 
his words, saw the face before him whiten. 


58 


Charred Wood 


“The constable with him?” 

“ And I am confident that the other man is 
a detective. I feel sure he thinks Miss Atheson 
is someone he has beeil commissioned to find. 
And they evidently think that I am in the 
matter to defend the lady. This morning I 
left some papers in the safety deposit vault 
at the First National, and as I passed the bank 
a little while ago I saw the constable talking 
to the cashier — about me, judging from their 
confusion as they acknowledged my greeting 
through the window. My room was searched 
this morning. They didn’t find anything, 
though.” Mark laughed as he thought how 
disappointed Saunders must have been. 

“ I hope you will pardon me, Mr. Griffin,” 
said Father Murray, “ if I confine myself for 
the present to asking questions. Have you ever 
noticed the camp of Slavic laborers about a 
mile east of Killimaga — along the line of the 
new railway? ” 

“ I have passed it several times.” 

“ Did you by chance notice,” Father Mur- 
ray went on, “whether this detective looked 
like a Slav? ” 


59 


Killimaga 

“On the contrary, he is — ’’ Mark half 
paused, then hurried on — “ an American.” It 
was not necessary that he mention Saunders’ 
name — not now, at least. 

Father Murray seemed puzzled. “There 
are two or three educated men in that camp,” 
he said, “ who have been hanging around Killi- 
maga a great deal of late; and they have been 
worrying an old parishioner of mine — a 
retired farmer who finds plenty of time to 
worry about everybody else, since he has no 
worries of his own. He thinks that these 
well-dressed ‘ bosses ’ are strange residents for 
a railroad construction camp. He tells me 
that he has often been in such camps, but that 
he had never seen what he calls ‘ gintlemen ’ 
living in them before.” 

Mark laughed. “ Your old parishioner is a 
discerning man.” 

“ Uncle Mac,” replied Father Murray, “ is 
the kind of man who believes that virtue stands 
in the middle. When I first came here he 
called to see me to ask about my politics. 
Uncle Mac is a lifelong Democrat, and when 
I told him that I usually voted the Republican 


60 


Charred Wood 


ticket he became suspicious. Just before the 
election I preached on ‘ Citizenship ’ — careful 
always to avoid any reference to partisanship. 
Uncle Mac came in after Mass and said: ^ I 
think ye were preachin’ Republican sintiments 
this mornin’, Father.’ I said, ^Not at all, 
Uncle Mac. I made no reference to either 
party.’ ‘ No,’ said he, ‘ but yer sintiments were 
awful highfalutin’.’ ” 

Mark laughed his appreciation. “ Wasn’t 
that rather a compliment to the Republicans? ” 
he asked. 

I took it so,” said Father Murray. “ But 
Uncle Mac does not like the ‘ highfalutin’.’ 
One day he said to me, when he saw all my 
books, ^ The man who was here before you. 
Father, wasn’t smart enough; but you’re too 
dom smart. Now, I don’t like a priest who 
isn’t smart enough, but I’m afeerd of one who’s 
too dom smart. If you’d only half as many 
books, I’d feel betther about ye.’ ” 

The Padre paused a moment; then the 
anxious look returned and he spoke slowly as 
if he were trying to solve the puzzle even while 
he spoke. 


61 


Killimaga 

Uncle Mac told me yesterday that there 
was a very ^ highfalutin’ gintleman ’ in the 
camp the night before last. He came there in 
a long, rakish automobile. Uncle Mac said 
that ‘ he parted his whiskers in the middle, 
so he did,’ and that ‘ he looked like a governor 
or somethin’ of the sort’ I was just wondering 
if that detective of yours has anything to do 
with that camp, and if these strange visitors 
are not in some way connected with his interest 
in Miss Atheson. But perhaps that’s making 
too much of a mystery of it” 

^^As to that,” said Mark, of course I cannot 
say. I merely wanted you to know. Father 
Murray, just what was going on; to tell you 
that while you don’t know me, nevertheless I 
hope you will permit me to be of assistance if 
these people are annoying Miss Atheson. If 
you wish to know more about me, I shall be 
glad to bring you the papers I left in the vault 
this morning.” 

“ I do not need to see your papers, Mr. 
Griffin,” Father Murray answered. “ I am 
satisfied with you, especially since Miss Athe- 
son owes something to you. Will you mind 


62 Charred Wood 

if I do not discuss the matter with you further 
now? ” 

^‘Not at all, Father Murray. I do not ask 
for information that you feel you should not 
give.” 

‘‘ Perhaps,” said Father Murray, “ I shall 
give it to you later on; but for the present let 
matters stand as they are. You know the 
detective, and I don’t. The principal thing 
is to find out whether there is any connection 
between that camp, the ^ highfalutin’ gintle- 
man ’ of Uncle Mac, and the detective. I have 
reason to think there may be. This much I 
will say to you: You need have no fear what- 
ever for Miss Atheson. I can assure you that 
there is no good reason in the world why a 
detective should be watching her. Miss Athe- 
son is everything that she looks.” 

I am confident of that,” said Mark. 
‘^ Otherwise I should not have spoken to you.” 

Then,” said the priest, suppose we go now 
to our engagement at Killimaga.” 

The two passed across the lawn, then down 
the street and along the road toward the great 
house whose towers looked out over the trees. 


63 


Killimaga 

Neither Mark nor the priest said a word until 
the town was well behind them. Then Father 
Murray turned to his companion. 

“ You will find Miss Atheson a remarkable 
woman, Mr. Griffin. There is a reason, per- 
haps, why I might not be a competent judge — 
why I might be prejudiced — but still I think 
that you, too, will see it. She has not been 
here long, but she is already loved. She 
receives no one but me. But she seems to like 
you, and I didn’t hurt you any in her estima- 
tion by my own rather sudden attraction.” 

I am grateful for your appreciation,” 
replied Mark, even though I may not deserve 
it. And more grateful for your confidence.” 

Walking slowly, and chatting in friendly 
fashion, they reached Killimaga. As the great 
gates swung open their attention was arrested 
by the purring of a motor. Father Murray 
uttered a low Ah!” while Mark stared after 
the swiftly vanishing machine. He, too, had 
seen its passenger, a heavy, dark man with a 
short beard combed from the center to the 
sides. The hashing eyes had seemed to look 
everywhere at once, yet the man in the car 


64 


Charred Wood 


had continued to smoke in quiet nonchalance 
as if he had not noticed the two standing by 
the gates. Uncle Mac had described the man 
well. He was ^ highfalutin’ ’ without a doubt. 

“ Sihasset is greatly honored,” Father Mur- 
ray remarked softly. 

“ Do you know him? ” 

I have seen him before. He comes from 
a foreign state, but he is no stranger to America 
— nor to England, for that matter. Have 
you any acquaintance with the diplomats in 
London? ” 

I have attended balls at which some of 
them were present.” 

Does your memory recall one of that 
type?” persisted the priest. 

No, it does not.” 

Mine does,” said Father Murray. “ I once 
had occasion to offer a prayer at an important 
banquet at which that gentleman was the guest 
of honor. He sat near me, and when I asked 
him where he had acquired such a mastery of 
English, he told me that he had been for five 
years minister at the Court of St. James. He 
is now accredited to Washington. Do you see 


Killimaga 65 

why I suggest that Sihasset is greatly honored 
to-day? ’’ 

Mark could not conceal his astonishment. 
“ But why under heaven,” he said, “ should 
a foreign diplomat be mixed up in a camp of 
Slavic laborers?” 

There are strange things in diplomacy,” 
said Father Murray. ‘‘And stranger things 
in Sihasset when the town constable has so 
much interest in your taking of tea at Killi- 
maga. If you had turned around a moment 
ago, you would have seen our constable’s coat- 
tails disappearing behind the bushes on our 
right.” 


CHAPTER V 


WITH EMPTY HANDS 

In the long after years Mark Griffin used to 
wonder at the strange way in which love for 
Ruth Atheson entered his life. Mark always 
owned that, somehow, this love seemed sent 
for his salvation. It filled his life, but only 
as the air fills a vacuum; so it was, conse- 
quently, nothing that prevented other interests 
from living with it. It aroused him to greater 
ambition. The long-neglected creative power 
moved without Mark’s knowing why. His pen 
wrote down his thoughts, and he no longer 
destroyed what he committed to paper. It now 
seemed a crime to destroy what had cost him 
only a pleasure to produce. The world had 
suddenly become beautiful. No longer did 
Japan and Siberia call to him. He had no 
new plans, but he knew that they were forming, 
slowly, but with finality and authority. 

Yet Mark’s love was never spoken. It was 
66 


67 


With Empty Hands 

just understood. Many times he had deter- 
mined to speak, and just as many times did it 
seem quite unnecessary. He felt that Ruth 
understood, for one day, when an avowal trem- 
bled on his lips, she had broken it off unspoken 
by gently calling him Mark,” her face suf- 
fused the while with an oddly tender light 
that was in itself an answer. After that it was 
always “ Ruth ” and Mark.” Father Murray 
also seemed to understand; with him, too, it 
was Ruth ” and Mark.” After one week 
of that glorious September, Mark was at Killi- 
maga daily; and when October came and had 
almost passed, without a word of affection 
being spoken between them, Ruth and Mark 
came to know that some day it would be spoken, 
quite as naturally as she had uttered his 
Christian name for the first time. When Mark 
thought of his love, he thought also of his 
mother. He seemed to see her smile as if it 
quite pleased her; and he rejoiced that he 
could believe she knew, and saw that it was 
good. 

I love many things in men,” said Father 
Murray one day as he and Mark watched the 


68 


Charred Wood 


waves dashing against the bluff. I love gen- 
erosity and strength, truthfulness and mercy; 
but, most of all, I love cleanness. The world 
is losing it, and the world will die from the 
loss. The chief aid to my faith is the clean 
hearts I see in my poor.” 

Uncle Mac again?” ventured Mark. 

“Uncle Mac, and Uncles Mac — many of 
them. They have a heritage of cleanness. It 
is the best thing they brought to this new 
world, and we were the losers when they 
left us.” 

“ We? But you are English, are you not? ” 
asked Mark courteously. 

“Ah! So you caught me then, did you? 
Yes, I am English, or rather British. But 
don’t question me about that; I am real Yankee 
now. Even my tongue has lost its ancestral 
rights.” 

Mark was persistent. “ Perhaps you, too, 
have a little of the ‘ blessed drop ’ that makes 
the Uncle Macs what they are? I really think, 
Father, that you have it.” 

“ Not even a little of the ‘ blessed drop.’ I 
am really not English, though born in England. 


With Empty Hands 69 

Both father and mother were Scotch. So I am 
kin to the ^ blessed drop.’ ” 

‘‘ And you drifted here — ” 

“ Not exactly ^ drifted,’ Mark. I came 
because I wanted to come. I came for oppor- 
tunity. I was ambitious, and then there was 
another reason — but that is at present for- 
bidden ground. Here is your constable friend 
again.” 

The constable passed with a respectful touch 
of his helmet. He at least was of the soil. 
Every line of his face spoke of New England. 

He is a character worth studying,” re- 
marked Father Murray. Have you ever 
talked with him?” 

“ No. I have had no chance.” 

“ Then find one, and put him in a book. He 
was once rich for Sihasset. That was in the 
lumber days. But he lost his money, and he 
thinks that the town owes him a living. That 
is the Methodist minister to whom he is speak- 
ing now. He, too, is worth your attention.” 

“ Do you get along well with the Protestant 
clergy of the town?” asked Mark. 

Splendidly,” said Father Murray; “ espe- 


70 


Charred Wood 


cially with the Universalist. There is a lot of 
humor in the Universalist. I suspect the 
^ blessed drop ’ in him. One day I happened to 
call him a Unitarian, and he corrected me. 
‘ But what,’ I asked, ‘ is the difference between 
the Universalists and the Unitarians?’ The 
little man smiled and said: ^ One of my pro- 
fessors put it like this: “ The Unitarians believe 
that God is too good to damn them, and the 
Universalists believe they are too good to be 
damned.” ’ ” 

Still, it cannot be an easy life,” said Mark, 
“ to be one of seven or eight Protestant pastors 
in such a small town.” 

It certainly is hard sledding,” replied 
Father Murray. But these men take it very 
philosophically and with a great deal of self- 
effacement. The country clergyman has trials 
that his city brother knows nothing about. He 
has to figure on the pennies that rarely grow 
to dollars.” 

The two friends walked on, Mark’s mind 
reverting to his own lack of faith and contrast- 
ing his dubiety with the sincerity of men who 
firmly believe — foremost among them the man 


With Empty Hands 71 

who walked by his side. Ah, if he, too, could 
only know! He broke the silence. 

Father.” He spoke hurriedly, as if fear- 
ing he might not have courage to continue 
what he had so boldly begun. “ Father, I 
can’t forget your words regarding those who 
claim to have studied religion and yet who 
deliberately leave out of the reckoning the 
greatest part of religion. I believe I did that 
very thing. I was once a believer, at least so 
I thought. I let my belief get away from me; 
it seemed no longer to merit consideration. I 
thought I had studied and discarded it; I see 
now that I simply cast it away. Afterwards, 
I gave consideration to other religions, but they 
were cold, lacking in the higher appeal. I 
turned at last to Theosophy, to Confucianism, 
but remained always unsatisfied. I never 
thought to look again into the religion I had 
inherited.” 

Father Murray’s face was serious. I am 
deeply interested,” he said, “ deeply, although 
it was only as I thought. But tell me. What 
led you to do this? There must have been a 
reason formed in your mind.” 


72 


Charred Wood 


“ I never thought of a reason at all ; I just 
did it. But now it seems to me that the reason 
was there, and that it was not a very worthy 
one. I think I wanted to get away. My social 
interest and comfort, my independence, all 
seemed threatened by my faith. You will 
acknowledge. Father, that it is an interfering 
sort of a thing? It hampers one’s actions, and 
it has a bad habit of getting dictatorial. Don’t 
you see what I mean?” 

I do,” said the priest; and paused as if to 
gauge the sincerity of his companion. “ In 
fact, I went through a similar experience.” 

Then you can tell me what you think of 
my position.” 

“ I have already told you,” said the priest 
earnestly. You are, the one to do the thinking 
now. All I can do is to point out the road by 
which you may best retrace your way. You 
have told me just what I expected to hear; 
I admire your honesty in telling it — not to 
me, but to yourself. Don’t you see that your 
reason for deserting your Faith was but a 
reason for greater loyalty? The oldest idea 
of religion in the world, after that of the exist- 


73 


With Empty Hands 

ence and providence of God, is the idea of 
sacrifice. Even pagans never lost that idea. 
Nothing in this world is worth having but 
must be paid for. Its cost is summed up in 
sacrifice. Now, religion demands the same. If 
it calls for right living, it calls for the sacrifice 
that right living demands. An athlete gets his 
muscle and strength, not by coddling his body, 
but by restraining its passions and curbing its 
indolence, by working its softness into force 
and power. A river is bound between banks, 
and only thus bound is it anything but a 
menace. If a church claims to have the Truth, 
she forfeits her first claim to a hearing if she 
asks for no sacrifice. That your Church asked 
many sacrifices was no cause for your throwing 
her over, but a sign that she claimed the just 
right to put religion in positive form, and to 
give precepts of sacrifice, without the giving of 
which she would have no right to exist at all. 
Am I clear? ” 

You are clear. Father, and I know you are 
right. I have never been able to leave my own 
Faith entirely out of the reckoning. I am not 
trying to excuse myself. I could not ignore it. 


74 Charred Wood 

for it intruded itself and forced attention. In 
fact, it has been forcing itself upon me most 
uncomfortably, especially of late years.” 

“ Again,” said Father Murray, a reason 
why you should have attended to it. If there 
is a divine revelation confided to the care of a 
church, that revelation is for the sake of men 
and not for the sake of the church. A church 
has no right to existence for its own sake. He 
was a wise Pope who called himself ^ Servant 
of the Servants of God.’ The position of your 
Church — for I must look upon you as a Cath- 
olic — is, that a divine revelation has been 
made. If it has been made it must be con- 
served. Reason tells us that something then 
must have been established to conserve it. 
That something will last as long as the revela- 
tion needs conserving, which is to the end of 
the world. Now, only the Catholic Church 
claims that she has the care of that revelation 
— that she is the conserving force; which means 
that she is — as I have told you before — a 
‘ City set upon a Mountain.’ She can’t help 
making herself seen. She must intrude on your 
thoughts. She must speak consistently through 


75 


With Empty Hands 

your life. She can permit no one to ignore 
her. She won^t let anyone ignore her. Kick 
her out one door, and she will come in another. 
She is in your art, your music, your literature, 
your laws, your customs, your very vices as 
well as your virtues — as she was destined to 
be. It is her destiny — her manifest destiny — 
and she can’t change it if she would.” 

Mark drew in a deep breath that sounded 
like a sigh. “ I suppose. Father,” he said, “ I 
could argue with you and dispute with you; 
under other circumstances perhaps I should. 
I hate to think that I may have to give up my 
liberty; yet I am not going to argue, and I am 
not going to dispute. I wanted information, 
and I got it. The questions I asked were only 
for the purpose of drawing you out. But here 
is another: Why should any institution come 
between a man and his God? Is that 
necessary? ” 

The priest’s eyes held a far-away look. It 
was some little while before he spoke, and then 
very slowly, as if carefully weighing his words. 

“ There is nothing,” said the priest, between 
the trees and the flowers and their God — but 


76 


Charred Wood 


they are only trees and flowers; they live, but 
they neither think nor feel. There is nothing 
between the lower animals and their God; but, 
though they live and feel, they have none of 
the higher power of thought. If God had 
wanted man thus, why should he have given 
him something more than the lower animals? 
Man cannot live and feel only and still be a 
man. He must feed not only his body but his 
heart and soul and intellect. The men who 
have nothing between themselves and their God 
are mostly confined in lunatic asylums. The 
gift of intelligence demands action by the 
intellect; and there must be a foundation upon 
which to base action. When the foundation 
is in place, there never can be any limit to the 
desire for building upon it. Now, God willed 
all that. He created the condition and is, 
therefore, obliged to satisfy the desires of that 
condition. Some day He must satisfy the 
desires to the full; but now He is obliged only 
to keep them fed, or to give them the means 
to keep fed. Of course. He could do that by 
a direct revelation to each individual; but that 
He has not done so is proved by the fact that. 


77 


With Empty Hands 

while there can be but one Truth, yet each 
individual who ‘ goes it alone ’ has a different 
conception of it. The idea of private religious 
inspiration has produced public religious 
anarchy. Now, God could not will religious 
anarchy — He loves truth too much. So reason 
tells us that He must have done the thing that 
His very nature would force Him to do. He 
must have confided His revelation to His 
Church in order to preserve it, to teach it, to 
keep it for men. That is not putting any man 
or institution between Himself and His crea- 
tures. Would you call the hand which drags 
you over a danger an interference with your 
liberty? Liberty, my dear Mark, is not the 
right to be blind, but the privilege of seeing. 
The light that shows things to your eyes is not 
an interference between those things and your 
eyes. The road you take to your destination 
is not an obstacle to your reaching it.” 

The priest was silent for a moment, but Mark 
knew that he had not quite finished. 

The rich young man of the Scriptures went 
to Christ and asked what he should do to be 
saved. He got his answer. Was Christ in his 


78 Charred Wood 

way? Was the answer a restraint upon his 
liberty? ” 

“ No,” answered Mark, breaking in, it was 
not a restraint upon his liberty. But you say 
that Christ is God, so the young man had noth- 
ing between himself and his God.” 

‘‘ Oh, yes, he had,” said the priest. ‘‘ He had 
the command or counsel that Christ gave him. 
It was against the command or counsel that he 
rebelled. Now have not I, and you, and all 
the world, the same right to get an answer as 
that young man had? Since we are all equal 
in the sight of God, and since Christ came for 
all men, have we not the right to an answer 
now as clear as His was then?” 

It seems logical,” admitted Mark. 

‘^Then,” said Father Murray, the unerring 
Voice must still be here. Where is it? ” 

“ Yes,” retorted Mark, ‘‘ that is my cry. 
Where is it? I think it’s the cry of many other 
men. What is the answer?” 

“ It is the thing that you threw over — or 
believed you had thrown over — and that you 
can’t get away from thinking about. It waits 
to answer you.” 


With Empty Hands 79 

A silence settled between the two men. It 
lasted for over a minute. Finally Mark 
broke it 

“You told me, Father,” he said, “ that what 
I called ^ Mrs. O’Leary’s philosophy ’ was 
religion. I now know better what you meant, 
for I have been gossiping about you. The best 
point you make is — yourself. I know what 
you have been, what you have done, and how 
sadly you have suffered. Doesn’t your religion 
demand too much — resignation? Does a God 
of justice demand that we tamely submit to 
injustice? I am not saying this to be personal, 
or to pain you, but everyone seems to wonder 
at your resignation to injustice. Why should 
such a fault be in the Church you think so 
perfect? ” 

The priest looked at Mark with kindly and 
almost merry eyes. “ I can answer you better, 
my friend, by sticking to my own case. I 
have never talked of it before; but, if it helps 
you, I can’t very well refuse to talk of it now. 
I came to the Church with empty hands, having 
passed through the crisis that seems to be upon 
you. She filled those empty hands, for she 


80 


Charred Wood 


honored me and gave me power. She set me 
in high places, and I honestly tried to be 
worthy. I worked for her, and I seemed to 
succeed. Then — and very suddenly and quietly 
— she pulled me down, and tore my robe of 
honor from me. My fellow priests, my old 
friends, criticised me and judged me harshly. 
They came no more to see me, though I had 
been generous with them. In the college I 
built and directed, one of my old friends sits 
in my place and forgets who put him there. 
Another is the Bishop who disgraced me. 
Now, have I a right to feel angry and rebel? ” 

“ To me,’’ said Mark, “ it seems as if you 
have.” 

“ I have not,” and the priest spoke very 
earnestly. “ I have no such right. I never 
knew — for I did not ask — the reason of my 
disgrace. But one thing I did know; I knew 
it was for my good. I knew that, though it 
was a trial given me by men, there was in it, 
too, something given by God. You judge as 
I should have judged ten years ago — by the 
standards of the world. I judge now by other 
standards. It took adversity to open my eyes. 


81 


With Empty Hands 

We are not here, my dear Mark, for the little, 
but for the big things. I had the little and 
I thought they were big. My fall from a 
place of honor has taught me that they were 
really little, and that it is only now that I have 
the big. What is religion for but to enlighten 
and to save — enlighten here that the future 
may hold salvation? What were my purple, 
power and title? Nothing, unless I could make 
them help to enlighten and to save myself and 
others. I ought to have fought them, but I 
was not big enough to see that they hindered 
where I could have made them help. Like a 
bolt out of the sunlight came the stripping. 
My shame was the best offering I have made 
during all the days of my life. In my misery 
I went to God as naturally as the poor prod- 
igal son went to his father when he was 
reduced to eating husks from the trough of the 
swine. I asked nothing as to the cause of my 
fall. I knew that, according to man’s standard 
— even according to the laws that she herself 
had made — that the Church had been unjust; 
but I did not ask to know anything about it, 
for the acceptance of the injustice was worth 


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Charred Wood 


more to my soul than was the great cathedral 
I had been instrumental in building. I was 
grieved that my friends had left me, but I 
knew at last that I had cultivated them at the 
expense of greater friends — sacrifice and 
humility. Shorn of my honors, in the rags and 
tatters left of my greatness, I lay before my 
Master — and I gained more in peace than I 
had ever known was in life.” 

‘‘God!” Mark’s very soul seemed to be 
speaking, and the single word held the 
solemnity of a prayer. “ This, then, is religion! 
Was it this that I lost?” 

“ No one has lost, Mark, what he sincerely 
wishes to find.” 


CHAPTER VI 

WHO IS RUTH? 

Leaving Father Murray at the rectory, Mark 
went on to the hotel. Entering the lobby, he 
gave vent to a savage objurgation as he rec- 
ognized the man speaking to the clerk. Mark’s 
thoughts were no longer of holy things, for 
the man was no other than Saunders, from 
whom, for the past two weeks, Sihasset had 
been most pleasantly free. 

“Damn!” he muttered. “I might have 
known he’d return to spoil it all.” Then, mus- 
tering what grace he could, Mark shook hands 
with the detective, greeting him with a fair 
amount of cordiality, for, personally, he rather 
liked the man. “You here!” he exclaimed. 
“ I scarcely expected ever to see you again.” 

Saunders grinned pleasantly, but still sus- 
piciously, as he answered. “ I can’t say the 
same of you, Mr. Griffin. I knew you would 
be here when I returned; fact is, I came back 
to see you.” 


83 


84 


Charred Wood 


Me? How could I cart books all over 
the world with me? What do you want to see 
me for? No, no. I am bad material for you 
to work on. Better go back to the Padre. 
He’s what you call an ‘easy mark,’ isn’t he?” 

“ Oh, he’s not so easy as you think, Griffin. 
By the way, have you lunched? ” 

“ No.” 

“ You will join me then? ” 

“Thanks; I will.” 

“ We can get into a corner and talk undis- 
turbed.” 

But lunch was disposed of before Saunders 
began. When he did, it was right in the mid- 
dle of things. 

“ Griffin,” he said, leaning over the table 
and looking straight at Mark, “ Griffin, what’s 
your game? Let’s have this thing out.” 

“ I am afraid, Saunders,” replied Mark, 
“ that I must take refuge again in the pictur- 
esque slang which the Padre thinks so expres- 
sive: I really don’t get you.” 

“ Oh, yes, you do. What are you doing 
here? ” 

“ Honestly, my good fellow,” Mark began 


Who Is Ruth? 85 

to show a little pique, “ you have remarkable 
curiosity about what isn^t your business.” 

“ But it is my business, Griffin. I am not a 
book agent, and never was.” 

It was Mark’s turn to smile. 

Which fact,” he said, is not information 
to me. I knew it long ago. You are a 
detective.” 

“ I am. Does that tell you nothing? ” 

Nothing,” replied Mark, except that you 
make up splendidly as a really decent sort of 
fellow.” 

Perhaps I am a decent sort, decent enough, 
anyhow; and perhaps I don’t particularly like 
my business, but it is my business. Now, look 
here, Griffin, I want you to help instead of 
hindering me. I have to ask this question of 
you: What do you know about Ruth Atheson? 
You see her every day.” 

So,” said Mark, annoyed, “ the constable 
has not been around for nothing.” 

“You have seen him then?” 

“ Everywhere.” 

“ Which proves he is a reliable constable, 
even if he is not a good detective.” Saun- 


86 Charred Wood 

ders looked pleased. But what about Ruth 
Atheson? ’’ 

But Mark would have his innings now. He 
knew well how to keep Saunders anxious. 

I am quite — well, interested in Miss 
Atheson.” 

“What!” Saunders half arose. 

“ Sit down, Saunders,” said Mark quietly, 
“ sit down. What’s so astonishing about that? ” 

“You — you — are engaged to Miss Ath- 
eson? You can’t mean it!” 

“ I didn’t say that" 

Saunders sat down again. “ You know 
nothing about her,” he gasped. 

“ The Padre’s friends are good enough to 
appeal to me.” 

“ But does the Padre know?” 

Mark’s eyes began to steel and glitter. He 
fixed them on Saunders, and his voice came 
very steady and quiet. 

“ Know what, Saunders? Know what?” 

“ Know what? Why, that Ruth Atheson is 
not Ruth Atheson.” 

“Then who is she?” 

Saunders drew a deep breath, and stared 


Who Is Ruth? 87 

hard at Mark for what seemed a long time 
to both. The detective broke the tension. 

“ Griffin,’’ he almost shouted, “ either I am 
a fool, and ought to be given a job as town 
crier, or you are the cleverest I’ve ever gone 
up against, or — ” 

“ Or,” Mark’s voice was still quiet, “ I may 
be entirely lacking in the knowledge which you 
possess. Get it off your mind, man — better 
do it soon, for you will have to later on, you 
know. I have quite made up my mind on 
that.” 

“Yes,” Saunders seemed half satisfied, “yes, 
you may not know — it really looks as if you 
didn’t. Are you the simon-pure Mark Griffin, 
brother of Baron Griffin of the Irish peerage? ” 

“ Yes. Where did you get that last bit of 
information? ” 

Saunders ignored the query. 

“ Did you really drop in here as a traveler, 
aiming at nothing in particular?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Did you never know Ruth — ” 

“Miss — ” 

“Miss Ruth Atheson before?” 


Charred Wood 


No.’’ 

“ Ever hear of her? ” 

“ No.” 

“Are you really — interested in her?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Do you intend to stay interested?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I was mistaken. You don’t know, and I 
guess it’s my duty to tell you the truth. This 
girl is a runaway/* 

“ What? ” Mark was rising. 

Saunders put out his hand. “ Easy now, 
Griffin, easy now. Just wait. I am going 
to tell you something. I see that you really 
know nothing, and it’s up to me to enlighten 
you. As I said, Ruth Atheson is not Ruth 
Atheson. She’s the daughter of a grand duke. 
I can’t tell you the name of the Grand Duchy, 
but I’ll say this : it isn’t very far from a certain 
Big Kingdom we hear a great deal about now 
— in fact the Duchy is a dependency of the Big 
Kingdom — more than that, the so-called Ruth 
Atheson is heiress presumptive to the throne. 
She’ll some day be the Grand Duchess.” 

Mark sat stunned. It was with difficulty 


Who Is Ruth? 


89 


that he could speak. He saw a tragedy that 
Saunders could not see. Then he broke out: 

But you? How do you know?” 

“ It’s my business to know — the business 
you don’t like. I was instructed to watch 
her. She got out of Europe before certain 
people could reach her — ” 

“ But,” objected Mark, “ how do I know 
you are telling the truth?” 

Saunders dug into his pocket and pulled 
out a postal card. “ This will tell you — or 
the photograph on it will.” 

The picture was a foreign one, bearing the 
strange characters of a Slavic language, such a 
card as is sold in every country with portraits 
of reigning or distinguished personages. The 
facsimile signature, in a bold feminine hand 
across the lower part of the picture, was 
“ Carlotta.” 

“Do you believe me now, Griffin?” asked 
Saunders, with some sympathy showing on his 
face, which fact alone saved Mark from smash- 
ing it. 

“ I am afraid I must, Saunders. You had 
better tell me the whole of this.” 


90 


Charred Wood 


I will ; for, as I have sized up the situation, 
it is best that I should. The Duchess ran 
away. She was supposed to be at San Sebastian 
with a trusted attendant. The attendant was 
evidently not to be trusted, for she disappeared, 
too. They were traced to London, then to 
Madeira, then to a North German Lloyd liner 
which stopped at the island on its way to Amer- 
ica. Then to Boston. Then to Sihasset.” 

This attendant you spoke of — what was 
she like? 

Saunders gave the description: “Dark, 
fairly stout, white hair, bad English, piercing 
black eyes, sixty years old, upper lip showing 
a growth of hair, slight wart on the right side 
of the nose.” 

“ Madam Neuvillel ” 

“ So she’s here with her, is she? I suspected 
that, but I have never seen the old lady.” 

“ She doesn’t go out much.” 

“Are you satisfied now, Mr. Griffin?” 

“As to identity, yes. Now, I will ask the 
questions. I have a right, haven’t I, Saunders? ” 

Saunders nodded. 

“ Why did the Duchess run away? ” 


Who Is Ruth? 91 

Saunders hesitated before he answered. “ I 
hate to tell you that. Don’t ask.” 

But I do ask.” 

Well, you may have a right to know. There 
was a man, that’s why.” 

Mark wondered at his own self-control. 

Who was he? ” 

An army officer, attached to the Italian 
embassy at her father’s court. But, look here, 
Griffin, there was no scandal about it. She 
just fell in love with him, that’s all. I was 
here watching for him, I thought, for a while, 
that you might be the man, though the descrip- 
tions did not tally. I was taking no chances. 
If I saw him, my business was to telegraph to 
a certain Ministry at Washington; that was 
all.” 

“ And they would — ” 

I don’t know. Those fellows have ways 
I can’t fathom. I don’t know what they would 
do. They probably have their plans laid. It’s 
evident that they don’t want her to meet him. 
I can’t arrest her, and neither can they; but 
they certainly could do for him if they wanted 
to. It would be easier to bring her back, then. 


92 


Charred Wood 


without scandal or publicity. Now you’ve got 
all I know. What are you going to do? ” 

I’m afraid,” Mark spoke with an effort, 

I’m afraid that I don’t know just what to do, 
Saunders. You see, I happen to love her.” 

“ But what about the other man?” 

Well, Saunders, I find it very hard to 
believe that.” 

“ Griffin,” said Saunders, “ I’ve told you a 
lot, because I know you are a gentleman, and 
because you have a right to know. I make 
only one request of you: please don’t speak 
of this.” 

“ I appreciate the confidence, Saunders. My 
word is given.” 

Think this thing over, Griffin. You’re the 
right stuff. I don’t blame you for wanting her. 
You know better than I if she’s right, and if 
you ever can have her.” 

Mark went back to his room. On his table 
lay a note. He opened it and read: 

My dear Mark: The Bishop is 
coming this morning to confirm the 
little class of tots who received their 
First Holy Communion last Sunday. 


Who Is Ruth? 


93 


His Lordship is a charming man. I’m 
sure you would like to meet him. 
Come up and take dinner with us at 
noon. He leaves on the three o’clock 
train. Better be at the rectory at 
eleven thirty. 

Sincerely, 

Donald Murray.” 


CHAPTER VII 


BITTER BREAD 

When Mark arrived at the church, which 
stood quite close to the little rectory, he heard 
the choir singing the Vent Creator, and remem- 
bered enough of former visits to church ser- 
vices to know that the sermon was about to 
begin. Early for dinner, he decided to pass 
the time listening to what the Bishop might 
have to say. There were no vacant seats near 
the door of the church, so he had to go quite 
close to the sanctuary before he found a place. 
Only two seats ahead of him was the group 
of twenty little girls about to be confirmed, 
and directly across the aisle from them were 
fifteen little boys. 

Mark had vivid recollections of the day of 
his own First Communion, but he had never 
been confirmed. Things looked just as they 
did on the day he so well remembered. The 
girls were dressed in white, and each small 
94 


Bitter Bread 


95 


I head was covered by a veil which fell in soft 
I long folds to the bottom of the short skirts. 
I The boys were in black, each with a white 
I ribbon around his right arm. These boys all 

i had serious faces, and had evidently been pre- 
pared well for the reception of the Sacrament. 
Mark found himself wondering how the pastor 
could possibly have succeeded in taming some 
of the lads, in whom he recognized certain 
i mischievous youngsters he had seen about the 
i hotel ; but tamed they certainly were. 

Mark had scarcely sat down before the 
Bishop turned to the congregation and began 
j to speak. His words were addressed entirely 
I to the children. He told them in simple lan- 
I guage, which Mark found himself admiring, 
the meaning and importance of the ceremony, 
j|: sketching the apostolic origin of Confirmation, 
I and dwelling upon its strengthening spiritual 
effects. 

The Bishop was young, too young, Mark 
thought, since he was not yet forty. His hair 
was still black, and his cheeks ruddy. He was 
quite a contrast to Father Murray who sat 
near by. Mark noticed that the pastor did not 


96 


Charred Wood 


wear the manteletta of a prelate, but only the 
surplice of a simple priest. There were two 
other priests in the sanctuary, both young, one 
probably the Bishop’s secretary. 

The Bishop allowed his gaze to wander over 
the congregation as he spoke with a rich, clear 
voice, and with growing eloquence. The chil- 
dren had fixed their wondering eyes on his 
impressive figure, as he stood before them, 
crozier in hand and mitre on head. Mark 
found that he was growing more attentive, and 
liking the Bishop even better as the sermon 
went on. More than that, he found himself 
interested in the doctrine of Confirmation, a 
ceremony which but a few months before he 
would have thought quite meaningless. He 
watched the Bishop and listened as closely as 
did the children. 

In the very midst of a sentence Mark saw a 
startled look on the face of the preacher, a 
quickly suppressed look that told of great sur- 
prise. The Bishop saved himself from break- 
ing the current of his speech, but so plainly 
did Mark notice the instance that his mind 
jumped at once to the conclusion that the 


Bitter Bread 


97 


Bishop had seen in the congregation somebody 
he had not expected in that place and at that 
time. Instinctively Mark’s gaze followed the 
Bishop’s. Across the aisle, and in a direct line 
with himself, sat Ruth, veiled as usual, and 
Madame Neuville. For an instant only the 
Bishop’s glance rested on the veiled girl; then 
he turned again to the children. But the ser- 
mon had been spoiled for Mark. The uneasi- 
ness was coming over him again. What did 
the Bishop know? Mark could not help think- 
ing that somehow the incident was a proof that 
the detective had told the truth. 

The sermon over, the Bishop’s attendant 
came up to him, while Father Murray went 
to marshal his little charges up to the foot of 
the altar. As the Bishop was about to sit 
down on the faldstool, Mark saw him whisper 
to the young priest beside him, the one Mark 
thought to be the secretary. He was a well 
trained secretary, for he made no sign; but 
Mark watched him as he calmly turned around 
to face the congregation. His searching glance 
swept the church until it rested upon the girl 
with the veil. He, too, seemed startled, but 


98 


Charred Wood 


gave scarcely a sign as he turned quickly away. 
When the ceremony had ended Mark left his 
pew, looking straight at Ruth as he turned to 
face the door. He imagined that her eyes 
looked directly into his; but if they did they 
looked at him as a stranger. He could have 
seen a smile under the veil if it had been there, 
but there was none. Still more worried, he 
left the church. The girl remained behind, 
until there was no one but herself and Madame 
Neuville left. In his anxiety for the girl, Mark 
returned and looked at her from the rear of 
the church. Her face was buried in her hands. 
The sacristy door opened slightly and the young 
secretary looked out. The girl, not seeing the 
door open, lifted the veil for an instant to 
wipe away her tears. The secretary closed the 
door softly as soon as he had seen her. 

Mark went directly to the rectory. The old 
housekeeper met him at the door before he 
could ring. 

“ Come right in, Mr. Griffin,” she said. 

Fm going to take ye into the dining room, 
sir, till the Father comes to present ye to His 
Lordship. He’d be wantin’ to do that himself, 


Bitter Bread 


99 


I know; and sure I have the Bishop in the 
front room, so ye’ll stay here please.” 

Mark stepped into the little dining room, 
where the table was already set, and waited 
for the priest. Ann went back to her cook- 
ing. Mark could hear her rattling the dishes 
and pans, all the while issuing orders to her 
assistants for the day. Ann was quite the most 
important personage in the parish on this occa- 
sion and had to show it. It was seldom she 
had such authority over others. Why not 
make the most of it? 

There was only a folding door between the 
dining room where Mark waited and the room 
in which the Bishop sat. Mark heard the 
Bishop arise impatiently from his chair and 
pace the room, a fact which caused him no 
little wonder. The Bishop had not impressed 
him as a man of nervous temperament. Mark 
now heard him sit down again, crunching the 
springs of the chair, and again jump up, to 
continue his nervous pacing. Then the door 
from the hallway into the parlor opened and 
Mark heard the Bishop’s voice: 

Is she the woman? ” 


100 


Charred Wood 


A young voice, which Mark was sure 
belonged to the secretary, answered: 

“ I am sorry to say. Bishop, that she is.’' 

My God!” said the Bishop. There was 
deep distress in his tones. “ Father, are you 
perfectly sure?” 

“ I could not be mistaken. Bishop. I stayed 
in the sacristy until all had left the church 
except her attendant and herself. She was 
crying, and she threw back the veil to use 
her handkerchief. Then I saw her face quite 
plainly. She is the woman.” 

Crying? ” The Bishop seemed about to 
cry himself. “ Poor creature, poor creature — 
and unfortunate man. So he has brought her 
here after all. I am afraid. Father, I did not 
do right when I omitted telling him the exact 
situation. What shall we do? We cannot pos- 
sibly stay.” 

Mark felt that he was eavesdropping, but 
everything had happened so quickly that there 
had been no chance to escape. He could not 
help hearing. His uneasiness became a great 
fear, and he felt that his face was bloodless. 
Turning to escape if possible through the kit- 


Bitter Bread 101 

chen, he paused long enough to hear the secre- 
tary say: 

No, Bishop, I am afraid you cannot stay. 
Monsignore Murray is quite beyond under- 
standing. He seems so good, and yet to have 
done a thing like this is awful. Surely he 
realizes what a scandal he may stir up.” 

“ Could you possibly secure an automobile to 
take us to Father Darcy’s?” asked the Bishop 
anxiously. He lives in the next town, and we 
could catch the train at his station.” 

“ I will try.” 

By this time Mark had decided that he could 
not very well go through the kitchen, and he 
had heard enough to make him feel that his 
duty toward Ruth was to wait. It was some- 
thing he would not have done under other cir- 
cumstances; but Mark was in love, and he 
remembered the adage about love and war. 

“ At once, please,” he heard the young priest 
say over the telephone. Then he hung up the 
receiver, just as Father Murray stepped into 
the dining room from the kitchen through 
which he had passed from the sacristy. 

“ Welcome, Mr. Griffin,” he said cordially. 


102 


Charred Wood 


“ Come, you must meet His Lordship. He’s 
in here,” and he threw open the folding-doors. 
The Bishop was standing. The secretary 
entered from the hall. The Bishop’s face was 
grave; but Father Murray did not notice that. 
He was like a youth, with the excitement of 
the occasion upon him. 

“ Let me present a traveler, Mr. Mark Grif- 
fin, of England, to Your Lordship — or is it 
Ireland, Mr. Griffin? Mr. Griffin is going to 
stay to break bread with us. Bishop, and I 
know you will like him.” 

“ I am pleased indeed to meet Mr. Griffin,” 
said the Bishop. I saw you in the church, 
sir. But I am very sorry. Monsignore, that 
I am not to have the opportunity of know- 
ing Mr. Griffin better. I am not — ” 

But the tactful secretary saved the Bishop 
an unpleasant explanation. 

“ His Lordship has to leave. Monsignore, 
and at once. The automobile is even now, I 
think, coming around the corner. It has become 
necessary for the Bishop to go to Father Darcy’s 
before taking the train back to the city. He 
hopes to catch Father Darcy for a few min- 


Bitter Bread 


103 


utes before taking the train at the next station.” 

Father Murray almost gasped. 

“ But, My Lord,” he cried, our meal is 
prepared. We have been looking forward to 
your staying. It is customary, is it not? I 
shall never be able to — ” and then his voice 
broke, for he was pleading. My dear Bishop, 
you will surely stay? ” 

Mark thought that all the misery of the 
world was in the priest’s tones. 

I am sorry. Monsignore,” and the Bishop 
looked it, though he spoke very quickly; “but 
circumstances compel me to leave at once. No 
one regrets the necessity more than I do. I 
should willingly stay if it were expedient, but 
unfortunately it is not.” 

“ The auto is waiting. Bishop,” said the sec- 
retary, who by this time had the prelate’s coat 
and hat in his hand. The valises were lying 
packed in the hall, as they had come from 
the church. 

The Bishop put out his hand to Mark. 

“ Good-bye, Mr. Griffin,” he said. “ I hope 
we may meet at another time.” 

He looked at Father Murray, but the poor 


104 


Charred Wood 


pastor had dropped into a chair, and Mark 
noticed that his face was white and drawn. 
For an instant it appeared as though the Bishop 
would go up to him, for he made one step in 
his direction. But Father Murray took no 
heed. Crushed by grief, he stared unseeing 
into space. The Bishop turned abruptly and 
followed his secretary to the door. Mark heard 
them go down the steps. He listened as the 
door of the car slammed; then he heard the 
chugging of a motor, and they were gone. The 
noise grew fainter and fainter. There was 
silence. Father Murray never moved. 

Ann clattered in from the kitchen, calling 
back an order to one of her assistants. Through 
the folding-doors she saw Mark. 

Where’s the Father?” she asked, for the 
priest was hidden by part of the wall between 
the two rooms. As she came up, Mark pointed 
to the silent figure in the chair. Ann forgot 
her importance in an instant, and rushed over 
to the inert priest. 

“What is it, Father?” she cried. “What 
is it? Are ye sick? ” 

But Father Murray did not answer. 


Bitter Bread 105 

Where is His Lordship?” she asked 
sharply, turning again to Mark. 

Gone.” 

^^Gone!” Ann almost whispered the word, 
as if in awe of it. ‘^What! he wouldn’t eat 
here — again! ” Her face showed an agony of 
rage. The dirty — but God forgive me — 
he’s the Bishop — I can’t judge him — ” 

Father Murray arose, and Ann said no more. 

“ Hush, Ann,” he cautioned, hush.” Then, 
turning to Mark, Come outside, Mark.” 

The two passed out onto the veranda. Father 
Murray dropped heavily into his chair, with 
the weight of an old, feeble man. Mark felt 
that he could not break the tension, but the 
priest relieved it himself. His voice had a ring 
of pathos in it, and he addressed Mark as 
though he needed him and knew he could 
count upon him. 

My friend, have you ever read Thomas a 
Kempis? ” 

“No, Father, I have not.” 

“It is a pity, indeed; there is so much of 
consolation in him when we need it. Listen to 
this quotation that I have learned by heart: 


106 


Charred Wood 


‘ If thou thinkest rightly and considerest things 
in truth, thou oughtest never to be so much 
dejected and troubled for any adversity; but 
rather to rejoice and give thanks, yea, to account 
this as a special subject of joy, that afflicting 
thee with sorrows I do not spare thee.’ It 
is Christ speaking, and the quotation is from 
His Imitation/' Then Father Murray made a 
gesture as though he were trying to throw it 
all off. 

“ Come in, Mark. The other guests did not 
intend to stay. The Bishop has never broken 
bread with me since — but let that pass. Come 
in and eat. It is bitter bread, my friend, bitter 
bread; but, alas, I must eat it.” 

And Mark thought of his own bitter bread, 
too, as he reentered the rectory. 


CHAPTER VIII 

FATHER MURRAY OF SIHASSET 

Ann bustled into Father Murray’s study next 
morning with something on her mind. When 
Ann had something on her mind the pastor 
was always quite likely to notice it, for Ann 
never had learned how to conceal her thoughts. 
Good, pious, and faithful she was, but with an 
inherent love of gossip. She had loyal feelings 
to express this morning, but long experience 
as the housekeeper of priests had made Ann 
wary of approaching a subject too abruptly. 
Mrs. Thompson was here, yer Reverence.” 
Yes? What was it this time?” 

“ Sure, ’twas about her young b’y Jack, the 
good-fer-nothin’. He’s drinkin’ ag’in.” 

“ And she wants me to — ” 

Give him the pledge.” 

All right; but why didn’t you bring him 
in?” 

“ Well, wan raison is that he isn’t sober yet 
107 


108 Charred Wood / 

/and she couldn’t bring him wid her. The other 
is that yer Reverence has sp’iled more good 
pledges on that lad than would kape the 
Suprame Coort in business for tin years.” 

Father Murray smiled and Ann knew she 
had made considerable progress, but not quite 
enough yet. 

“ ril go and see him to-morrow morning. 
He’ll be sober then,” said the priest, looking 
down longingly at his work. 

But Ann had another case. The choir’s 
busted.” 

Father Murray put down his book. Here 
was disaster indeed. Again?” 

^^Yes, ag’in. The organist, Molly Wilson, 
is insulted.” 

Who insulted her? ” 

^^Ye did. She says ye didn’t appreciate her 
music for the Confirmation.” 

But I did.” 

But ye didn’t tell her so, the hussy.” 

“ Hush, Ann. Don’t call names. I had no 
time to tell Miss Wilson anything. I’ll see 
her to-day.” 

“Yes, ye will, and that’ll make her worse. 


Father Murray of Sihasset 109 

She’s got to be soft-soaped all the time, the 
painted thing! ” 

Please, Ann, don’t talk like that. I don’t 
like it, and it makes hard Keelings.” 

“ ’Tis little feelings yer Reverence should 
have left after the way the Bishop — ” 

“ Ann!” 

I will say it. Didn’t he slide out of bein’ 
here three months ago? An’ I wid a dinner 
fit fer the auld Bishop, and too good fer 
this — ” 

Please, Ann.” 

^‘Wasn’t ye the Vicar Gineral once? Why 
should he hurt ye now? I could tell him things 
if I had me tongue on him — ” 

But Father Murray was on his feet, and 
Ann was afraid. She held her tongue. 

“ Once and for all, Ann, I forbid you to 
say a word about my superiors. The Bishop is 
a great and a good man. He knows what he 
is about, and neither you nor I may judge him. 
No! not a word.” 

The housekeeper was crying. Sure, I’m 
sorry, yer Reverence. I won’t say a word ag’in, 
even if I do think he treated ye dirthy. But 


no 


Charred Wood 


I hope ye won’t spake like that to me. Sure I 
thry to serve ye well and faithfully.” 

And so you do, Ann ; so respect my wish in 
this. There, there, don’t cry. I don’t want to 
hurt you; but please don’t hurt me.” 

“ I’d cut me tongue out if it hurted yer 
Reverence.” 

I think you would. Indeed, I know you 
would. Don’t mind a spoiled dinner. There 
are plenty of dinners spoiled.” 

Sure, them that has theirs spoiled kin afford 
it.” Father Murray could not help being 
amused again. Ann was always bemoaning his 
slender revenues. An’ ye a Vicar Gineral.” 

Never mind, Ann. I’ll get on somehow. 
Is there anything else?” 

“ McCarthy’s sick ag’in.” 

“ Well, I’ll take the Holy Oils and go down 
there this morning.” 

Ann was now herself again, or she wouldn’t 
have come back so hard on the chronically 
dying McCarthy. 

Sure, ye n’adn’t do that. Ye’ve wasted a 
whole gallon of Holy Oil anointin’ that omad- 
han four times already.” 


Father Murray of Sihasset HI 

The priest passed off the unthought irrev- 
erence without notice. 

I’ll go and see him now, Ann. The man 
may be very sick. Get me my hat. I left it in 
my bedroom when I came in last night from 
O’Leary’s.” 

Ann gave him his hat at the door, with 
another bit of information. 

“ Miss Atheson telephoned for me to ask ye 
to drop in to Killimaga on yer way back. 
Ye’ll be stayin’ fer lunch, as they call it?” 

“ Yes, I probably shall, Ann. It will save 
you a little work, and there are plenty of 
servants at Killimaga.” 

He went down the walk to the street. Ann 
looked after him, the rebuke forgotten. 

“ Savin’ me work, is it? Faith, he ought to 
be thinkin’ of savin’ his pinnies, slashin’ thim 
around to the likes of McCarthy.” Then the 
remembrance of her spoiled tirade came to her, 
as she thought of her ruined dinner and the 
Bishop. “What did he do that fer to a man 
who was the Vicar Gineral? But God forgive 
me. An auld woman niver knows how to hauld 
her tongue. Sure, the Father is a saint any- 


112 Charred Wood 

how, whativer the Bishop, bad scran to him, 
is.’’ 

There was the eternal maternal in Ann, if 
nothing else was left of the eternal feminine. 
It is the eternal maternal that fights and hates, 
without knowing why — and loves and pro- 
tects too — still without knowing, or asking, 
a reason. 

In the kitchen Ann saw Uncle Mac taking 
his ease by the table. He often dropped in for 
a chat. 

“ Where’s the Father? ” he asked. 

Gone to look over McCarthy ag’in,” she 
answered, with pleased anticipation of the 
things she could safely say, without rebuke, of 
the parish’s chronic hypochondriac. 

But Uncle Mac, while he never rebuked, yet 
was adroit in warding off temptations to break 
the Commandments. He began to chuckle as 
if he had just heard a wonderful story. 

Ann looked up. What’s bitin’ ye this 
mornin’? ” 

“ ’Tis what the Father said to Brinn, the 
man that runs the Weekly Herald. Ye know 
him?” 


Father Murray of Sihasset 113 

“ I know no good av him.” 

“ He’s not a bad fella a-tall. Ye know he 
has a head as bald as an aig. Well, he was 
goin’ to the Knights of Pythias ball, and was 
worrited about a fancy suit to wear; fer it 
appears that thim that goes must be rigged up. 
He met the Father in Jim’s drug sthore on the 
corner, and he ups and axes him to tell him 
what to wear.” 

‘^The omadhan!” 

“ Av coorse.” Uncle Mac fell from right- 
eousness. ' He shud not have axed such a 
question of a priest. But the Father had him. 
^Ye want to be disguised?’ he said. ^ That 
I do,’ said Brinn, takin’ off his hat to mop the 
top of his shiny pate. ^ What’ll I wear? ’ The 
Father giv wan glance at his head. ‘ Wear a 
wig,’ sez he.” 

Ann chuckled, and fetched the old man the 
cup of tea he always expected. 

Faith, he did better nor that lasht week,” 
she confided. ’Twas auld Roberts at the hotel 
down by the deepo that got it. His little dog 
does always be barkin’ at Rover. The Father 
wint out walkin’ to the other side of the thracks 


to see the Widow McCabe’s Jacky about servin’ 
Mass on week days. Roberts comes along with 
his snarlin’ little pup, \and the imp bit at 
Rover’s heels. Rover me^ wan bite at him, 
and he ran off yelpin’. ^Tll shoot that big 
brute some day,’ sez Roberp to the Father. 
‘ Don’t do that, Mr. Roberts,’ Re sez, quiet-like. 
^ The dogs understand each othe^r.’ ‘ I will, 
so,’ sez Roberts, ‘ and I kin shoot a human 
dog, too.’ ” 

“ What’s that? ” Uncle Mac was on his feet 
in an instant. “ What’s that? He said that to 
the Father? I’ll murther him!” 

“Ye n’adn’t,” said Ann quietly. “The 
Father murthered him betther nor ye could, 
wid an answer. ^ Don’t let yer bad timper 
make ye thry to commit suicide, Mr. Roberts,’ 
sez he, and off he marched. Sure the whole 
town is laffin’ at the mane auld snake.” 

“Murther an’ Irish!” was all Uncle could 
say. “ An’ he says he’s Scotch. ’Tisn’t in 
raison that a Scotchman could do it.” 

Father Murray was ignorant of the admira- 
tion he had excited; he walked quickly toward 
the railway, for McCarthy lived “ over the 


Father Murray of Sihasset 115 

tracks.” A man was standing at the door of 
the drug store as he passed. 

“ Good day to you, Elder,” he drawled. 

Oh, good day, Mr. Sturgis. How are 
you? ” Father Murray stopped to shake hands. 
Mr. Sturgis was a justice of the peace and the 
wag of the town. He always insisted on being 
elected to the office as a joke, for he was a 
well-to-do business man. 

Fine, fine. Elder,” he answered. “ Have 
you seen my new card? ” He fumbled for one 
in his pocket and handed it over. Father Mur- 
ray read it aloud : 

John Jonathan Sturgis 
Justice of the Peace 

The only exclusive matrimonial magistrate. 

Marriages solemnized promptly, accu- 
rately and eloquently. 

Fees Moderate, Osculation extra. 

Office at the Flour Mill, which has, how- 
ever, no connection with my smooth-run- 
ning Matrimonial Mill. 

P. S, My Anti-Blushine is guaranteed not 
to injure the most delicate complexion. 


116 


Charred Wood 


You’ll be running the clergy clean out of 
business if this keeps up, Mr. Sturgis,” laughed 
the priest. But unless I am much mistaken, 
you didn’t stop me only to show the card. 
There’s something else? I see it on your face.” 

“ I thought you would. Elder. Let us walk 
down the side street a bit and I’ll tell you.” 
The Justice became serious. “ Elder, I sup- 
pose you know Roberts who keeps the Depot 
Hotel?” 

“ I know him only slightly.” 

“ He was in to see me to-day, on what he 
called ‘ important business.’ He is a crony of 
my constable. He had a cock and bull story 
about that lady at Killimaga, who goes to your 
church. I guess the constable told it to him. 
I gave him no satisfaction because there was 
nothing in it that concerned me; but the old 
scamp thinks it might hurt you, so he gave 
it to Brinn, who will publish it if you don’t 
drop in on him.” 

Father Murray put his hand on the shoulder 
of the justice. Thank you kindly, Mr. 
Sturgis,” he said. “ I would like to save the 
lady from annoyance, and will see Mr. Brinn 


Father Murray of Sihasset 117 

at once; but I must begin by apologizing for 
my recent attack on his beauty.” 

“No need to do that, Father,” assured the 
justice. “ He printed the joke himself in 
to-day’s Herald/' 

When the priest left the office of the editor, 
he walked toward the rectory in deep thought, 
quite evidently worried, but the suppressed 
story was safely in his pocket. 


CHAPTER IX 
THE bishop’s confession 

“ How do you do, Mr. GrifBn. I am delighted 
to see you again, and so soon after our first 
meeting.” 

Two days had elapsed since the unpleasant 
incident at the rectory, and Mark, engrossed 
in thoughts by no means in harmony with the 
peaceful country through which he wandered, 
was taken unawares. He turned sharply. A 
big automobile had stopped near him and from 
it leaned the young Bishop, hand outstretched. 

Mark hurried forward. I am glad to see 
Your Lordship again. You are still travel- 
ing?” He had retained no pleasant recollec- 
tions of the dignitary, and, as he shook the 
extended hand, was rather surprised to realize 
that he felt not a little pleased by the unex- 
pected encounter. 

“I am still traveling — Confirmation tours 
all this season. Are you going far, Mr. 
Griffin?” 


118 


119 


The Bishop’s Confession 

“ I am merely walking, without goal.” 

Then come in with me. I am on my way 
to a little parish ten miles farther on. I want 
to chat. My secretary went on ahead by train, 
to ‘ prepare the way ’ as it were. I will send 
the car back with you. Won’t you come?” 
The tone of the Bishop’s voice indicated an 
earnest desire that the invitation be accepted. 

Mark hesitated but a moment. “ I thank 
Your Lordship. I will gladly go with you 
on such pleasant terms.” He entered the car 
and, sinking into its soft cushions, suddenly 
awakened to the fact that he had tramped far, 
and was tired. 

The Bishop took up the conversation. 

“ You are thoroughly British, Mr. Griffin, 
or you would not have said ^ Your Lordship.’ 
The bishops in England are all addressed in 
that way, are they not?” 

“ Of course, and here also. Did I not hear 
Father Murray — ” 

Oh, Father Murray is quite different. He 
is a convert, and rather inclined to be punc- 
tilious. Then, too, he is from England. In 
America the best we get as a rule is just plain 


120 


Charred Wood 


^ Bishop.’ One of your own kind of Bishops 
— an Episcopalian — I knew him well and a 
charming man he was — told me that in Eng- 
land he was ^ My Lorded’ and ‘Your Lord- 
shiped ’ everywhere, until he had gotten quite 
used to the dignity of it. But when he stepped 
on the dock at New York, one of his lay inti- 
mates took all the pomposity out of him by a 
sound slap on the back and the greeting, 
‘ Hello, Bish, home again? ’ ” 

“ It was very American, that,” said Mark. 
“ We wouldn’t understand it.” 

“ But we do. I wouldn’t want anyone to go 
quite that far, of course. I have nerves. But 
I confess I rather like the possibility of it — 
so long as it stays a possibility only. We Yan- 
kees are a friendly lot, but not at all irreverent. 
A bishop has to be ‘ right ’ on the manhood 
side as well as on the side of his office. That’s 
the way we look at it.” 

A wicked thought went through Mark’s 
head. He let it slide out in words before he 
weighed the words or the thought. An instant 
after, he could have bitten his tongue with 
chagrin. 


121 


The Bishop’s Confession 

“ But don’t you take the manhood into 
account in dealing with your clergy?” 

To Mark’s surprise the Bishop was not 
offended by the plain reference to the unpleas- 
ant scene in the rectory at Sihasset. 

‘‘Thank you; thank you kindly, Mr. GrifBn, 
for giving me such an excellent opening. I 
really wanted you to say something like that. 
If you hadn’t, I should certainly have been 
nonplussed about finding the opening for what 
I desire to say to you. You are now referring 
to my seemingly unchristian treatment of 
Monsignore Murray? Eh, what?” It seemed 
to please the Bishop to lay emphasis on the 
English “ Eh, what? ” He said it with a comic 
intonation that relieved Mark’s chagrin. 

“ Your Lordship is a diplomat. I was wrong 
to ask the question. The affair is simply none 
of my business.” 

“ But it is, Mr. Griffin. I would not want 
you, a stranger — perhaps not even a Catholic 
— to keep in your mind the idea that a Cath- 
olic bishop is cold and heartless in his dealings 
with his flock, and particularly with his under- 
shepherds.” 


122 


Charred Wood 


Mark did not know what to answer, but he 
wanted to help the Bishop understand his own 
feelings. 

I like Father Murray very much, my dear 
Lord — or rather my dear Bishop.” 

It was the Bishop’s turn to smile. “ You are 
getting our ways fast, Mr. Griffin. When we 
part, I suppose you’ll slap me on the back and 
say ‘ Bish.’ ” 

‘‘The Lord forbid.” 

“ For my back’s sake,” the Bishop was look- 
ing at Mark’s strong shoulders, “ for my back’s 
sake I hope the Lord does forbid. But to your 
question. I must get at the answer in a round- 
about way. Father Murray, or Monsignore 
Murray, for he is a prelate, was one of my 
dearest friends. For no man had I a greater 
regard. He was the soul of generosity, earnest, 
zealous, kind, and — I believed then — a saint.” 

Then? 

Then. I am going to confide in you, and 
for a good purpose. You like him. His 
people in Sihasset adore him, as did his curates 
and his people at the Cathedral. I expected, 
as did others, that he would be in the place I 


123 


The Bishop’s Confession 

occupy to-day.” The Bishop broke off to look 
fixedly at Mark for a n^oment. “ Mr. Griffin, 
may I trust you to do your friend a service? ” 

Yes, Bishop, you may.” 

Then I will. I have no other way to do 
this thing. I cannot do it through another 
priest. They are all of one mind except a few 
of the younger ones who might make matters 
worse. You can help Monsignore Murray, if 
you will. Now, listen well. You heard the 
conversation between my secretary and myself 
at the rectory, did you not? You were in the 
next room, I know.” 

Yes; I could not help hearing it, and there 
was no way of escape.” 

I know there was no escape. You heard 
it all?” 

All.” 

“ That decides me to tell you more. It may 
be providential that you heard. A woman’s 
name was mentioned?” 

No name, only a reference to a woman, 
but I think I know who was meant.” 

“ Exactly.” The Bishop’s voice took on even 
a graver tone. What I am going to say to 


124 


Charred Wood 


you is given into your confidence for a stronger 
reason than to have you think more charitably 
of a bishop in his dealings with his priests. I 
am taking you into my confidence chiefly for 
Monsignore Murray’s sake. He is a different 
sort of man from the ordinary type. He has 
few intimate friends because his charity is very 
wide. You seem to be one of the rare beings 
he regards with special favor. You like him 
in return. The combination is excellent for 
my purpose. I do not know when this woman 
first came into Monsignore Murray’s life, but 
he has seen her quite frequently during the last 
few years. No one knows where she came 
from or who she is, except that she calls her- 
self ‘ Miss Atheson.’ ” 

“ That is her name, if you are thinking of 
the lady I have in mind — Ruth Atheson.” 

“ Exactly. The old Bishop, my predecessor, 
seemed oblivious to the situation. I soon 
learned, after my appointment, that Monsignore 
Murray and Miss Atheson were together almost 
daily, either at the rectory or at her hotel. 
But I said nothing to Monsignore and had 
every confidence in him until — well, until one 


125 


The Bishop’s Confession 

day a member of the Cathedral clergy, unex- 
pectedly entering the rectory library, saw Miss 
Atheson sitting on the arm of the priest’s chair, 
with her head close to his and her arm across 
his shoulders. They were reading from a let- 
ter, and did not see the visitor, who withdrew 
silently. His visit was never known to Mon- 
signore Murray. You understand?” 

Mark was too much surprised to answer. 

“ Don’t look so horror-struck, Mr. Griffin. 
The thing might have an explanation, but no 
one asked it. It looked too unexplainable of 
course. The story leaked out^ and after that 
Monsignore Murray was avoided. Never once 
did I give in to the full belief that my dear old 
saint was wrong, so I gently suggested one day 
that I should like his fullest confidence about 
Miss Atheson. He avoided the subject. Still 
I was loath to believe. I made up my mind 
to save him by a transfer, but he forestalled 
me and asked a change; so I sent him to 
Sihasset.” 

Mark found his voice. 

“That was the reason? And he never 
knew? ” 


126 


Charred Wood 


“ That was the reason. I thought he would 
ask for it, and that I would then have a chance 
to tell him; but he asked for nothing. The 
scene when he left his work at the cathedral 
was so distressing to me that I would willingly 
lay down my office to-morrow rather than go 
through with it again.” 

“ But he is so gentle. He could not make 
a scene? ” 

“ That’s it, that’s it. There was no scene, and 
yet there was. I told you how I loved him. 
We first met at college, in Rome. In years the 
difference between us was not so very great, 
but in experience he was far older than I. 
I was alone in the world, and he was both 
father and friend to me. When I sent him 
away, I felt as Brutus must have felt when 
he condemned his sons to death. Only it was 
worse. It was a son condemning his father 
to disgrace. But I hoped to save him.” 

“And you did not?” 

“ No, that was harder yet. I thought I had 
— until I went to Sihasset and saw her in the 
church. Poor creature! She must have fol- 
lowed him.” 


The Bishop’s Confession 127 

But, my dear Lord Bishop, she is so young 
and he — ” 

Yes, I know. But facts are facts. What 
could I do? Look here, Mr. Griffin. What- 
ever there is in this that excuses him I ought 
to know. And he ought to know the cause of 
my actions in his regard. I shall have to tell 
him and then — If there is an explanation, 
how can I forgive myself? But he cannot be 
blind. Soon all Sihasset will notice and talk. 
I shall have to remove him again, and then .... 
My God! I cannot think that my saint could 
ever merit ^uch an end. Do you know what 
it means to be an unfrocked priest?’^ 

“Yes.” Mark had no other answer. His 
distress was too deep. His mind was working 
fast, however. 

“ Do you think, Mr. Griffin, that you could 
tell him — point out the danger of his position 
— without hurting him? He is very sensitive. 
Don’t tell him all you know — only intimate 
gently that there may be some misunderstand- 
ing of this kind. He surely will guess the rest. 
You may save him if you can do this and — 
if you will do it.” 


128 


Charred Wood 


It was on Mark’s tongue to refuse, but he 
happened to glance at the Bishop’s face. The 
tears were streaming down his cheeks. 

Don’t mind my weakness, Mr. Griffin. It 
is a weakness in me thus to take a stranger 
into my confidence in such a matter. But I 
feel that you alone have his confidence. You 
can’t realize what this thing has cost me, in 
peace. He was the last I should have sus- 
pected. I must save him. Help me do it. 
The Church is supposed to be hard-hearted, but 
she is forgiving — too forgiving sometimes. 
My duty is to be stern, and a judge; but I 
cannot judge him with sternness. I would give 
my life to think that this was all a bad dream. 
Don’t you see that he is the man I always 
thought would be my own bishop? How can 
I go to him — and hurt him?” 

If Mark Griffin had had any misgivings 
about the character of the Bishop, they had 
vanished. He saw no bishop beside him, but 
only a man who in his heart of hearts had for 
years treasured a friendship and, in spite of 
everything, could not pluck it out. Now he 
had opened that heart to an utter stranger, 


129 


The Bishop’s Confession 

trusting him as if snatching at every chance to 
save his sacred ideals, shrinking from inflicting 
pain himself as a surgeon would shrink from 
operating on his own father. Mark’s heart 
went out to the weeping man beside him. 

But his own sorrow Mark resolved to keep 
to himself yet a little while. He was not ready 
to think out his own case. The sweet, com- 
pelling face of Ruth Atheson rose up before 
him to plead for herself. Who was she, this 
girl of mystery? His half-promised wife? A 
runaway duchess pledged to another man? A 
priest’s — Gdd! that was too much. Mark 
clenched his hands to stifle a groan. Then he 
thought of Father Murray. Good and holy 
and pure he had seemed to be, a man among 
men, a priest above all. Surely there was an 
explanation somewhere. And he hesitated no 
longer to accede to the request of the Bishop 
who still, Mark felt, believed in his friend, and 
was hoping against hope for him. 

“ Here, Mr. Griffin, is my stop. You have 
been silent for fifteen minutes.” The Bishop’s 
voice was sad, as if Mark had refused to help. 

“ Was I silent so long? I did not know. 


130 


Charred Wood 


There is something I cannot tell you yet that 
may bring you consolation. Some day I will 
tell you. In the meantime, trust me. I see 
no way now by which I can fully justify your 
faith in my efforts, but I will try. I promise 
you that I will try.” 

So they parted, and Mark was driven back 
to Sihasset alone. 

The Bishop prayed longer — much longer — 
than usual before he left the little church to 
join the priests who had gathered in the rec- 
tory after the ceremony. 


CHAPTER X 

AT THE MYSTERY TREE 

All next day Mark GrifBn wandered about 
brooding. Father Murray had returned to his 
old place in his thoughts. Distress had bred 
sympathy between the two, and instinctively 
Mark looked upon the priest as a friend; and, 
as a friend, he had cast doubt from his mind. 
There was an appointment to fill at Killimaga 
in the afternoon, an appointment to which 
Mark had looked forward with much joy; but 
he remembered the coldness of Ruth when he 
saw her in the church, and felt that he was not 
equal to meeting her, much as he longed to be 
in her presence. So he sent a note pleading 
sickness. It was not a lie, for there was a 
dull pain in both head and heart. 

All the afternoon he walked along the bluff 
road, studiously avoiding Saunders who had 
seemed desirous of accompanying him, for 
Mark wanted to be alone. Taking no note of 
131 


132 


Charred Wood 


the distance, he walked on for miles. It was 
already late in the afternoon when he turned 
to go back, yet he had not thought out any 
solution to his own problem, nor how to 
approach Father Murray in behalf of the 
Bishop. 

To Mark Griffin pain of any kind was some- 
thing new. He had escaped it chiefly by reason 
of his clean, healthful life, and through a fear 
that made him take every precaution against 
it. He did not remember ever having had 
even a headache before; and, as to the awful 
pain in his heart, there never had been a reason 
for its existence till this moment. 

With all the ardor of a strong nature that 
has found the hidden spring of human love, 
Mark Griffin loved Ruth Atheson. She had 
come into his life as the realization of an 
ideal which since boyhood, so he thought, had 
been forming in his heart. In one instant she 
had given that ideal a reality. For her sake 
he had forgotten obstacles, had resolved to 
overcome them or smash them; but now the 
greatest of them all insisted on raising itself 
between them. Poor, he could still have mar- 


133 


At the Mystery Tree 

ried her; rich, it would have been still easier 
so far as his people were concerned; but as a 
grand duchess she was neither rich nor poor. 
The blood royal was a bar that Mark knew 
he could not cross except with ruin to both; 
nor was he foolish enough to think that he 
would be permitted to cross it even did he 
so will. Secret agents would take care of that. 
There was no spot on earth that could hide 
this runaway girl longer than her royal father 
desired. Mark Griffin would have blessed the 
news that Ru^h Atheson was really only the 
daughter of a beggar, or anything but what 
he now believed her to be. 

Then there was the man Saunders had spoken 
of, but Mark thought little of him. Whatever 
he had been to the girl once, Mark felt that 
the officer was out of her life now and that 
she no longer cared for him. 

It was dusk when the weary man reached 
that part of the bluff road where the giant 
tree stood. Tired of body, and with aching 
heart, he flung himself into the tall grass 
wherein he had lain on the day he first saw 
her. Lying there, bitter memories and still 


134 


Charred Wood 


more bitter regrets overmastered him as he 
thought of the weeks just past. 

The gray ocean seemed trying — and the 
thought consoled him a little — to call him 
back home; but the great tree whispered to 
him to remain. Then Father Murray’s face 
seemed to rise up, pleading for his sympathy 
and help. It was strange what a corner the 
man had made for himself in Mark’s heart; 
and Mark knew that the priest loved him even 
as he, Mark, loved the priest; but he felt that 
he must go away, must flee from the misery he 
dared not face. Mark was big and strong; but 
he cried at last, just as he had cried in boy- 
hood when his stronger brother had hurt his 
feelings, or his father had inflicted some dis- 
appointment upon him; and a strong man’s 
tears are not to be derided. 

How long he thus lay, brooding and mis- 
erable, he did not even care to know. A step 
aroused him from his stupor. 

He looked up. A man was coming from 
the road toward the tree. He was tall, hand- 
some and dark of face, Mark thought, for the 
moon had risen a little and the man was in the 


135 


At the Mystery Tree 

light. His stride was that of a soldier, with 
a step both firm and sure. He looked straight 
ahead, with his eyes fixed on the tree as though 
that were his goal. He passed Mark’s resting- 
place quickly and struck three times on the tree, 
which gave back a hollow sound. Then he 
waited, while Mark watched. In a minute the 
signal was repeated, and only a few more 
instants passed before the doorway in the tree 
was flung open. 

Mark saw the white-gowned figure of the 
lady of the trea step out. He heard her cry 
“Luigi!” with a voice full of joy and glad- 
ness. The two met in quick embrace, and the 
desolation of the watcher was complete as he 
heard her speak lovingly to the officer who had 
at last come back into her life. She spoke in 
French and — was it because of the language 
used or of the unusual excitement? — her voice 
took on a strange elusive quality utterly unlike 
the richness of the tones Mark loved so well, 
yet remained vibrant, haunting in its sibilant 
lightness. Never again would he hear it so. 
He longed to go, but there was no present 
way of escape, so he steeled his heart to listen. 


136 


Charred Wood 


“ You have come, my beloved,” he heard her 
say. 

“ I have come, Carlotta. I told you that 
nothing could keep me. When you wrote tell- 
ing me where to come, and when and how to 
signal, I did not delay one minute.” 

I feared to write, Luigi. Perhaps they are 
even now watching you.” 

I think they do not know I am here,” he 
answered. I have seen no one watching. And 
who knows of our love? How could they 
know? ” 

They know very much, my Luigi, and I am 
afraid I should not have called you. But I 
wanted you so much.” 

“ If you had not called me I should have 
died. Without you, how could I live? ” 

“You love me, then, so much?” 

“ It takes great love to look up to you, Car- 
lotta, and have I not looked?” 

“ Yes, yes, Luigi, and I love you.” 

They wandered down the little lane between 
the wall and the trees that lined the road, while 
Mark lay in dumb misery in the grass. It had 
been hard before. It was harder now when he 


137 


At the Mystery Tree 

knew for sure. He must go away, and never 
see her again. It was all that was left him, 
as an honorable man, to do. 

Down the road his eye caught a movement 
as if someone were slipping into the bushes. 
Mark watched for a second glimpse of the 
lovers, but they were far away on the other 
side. For a long time there was no other 
visible movement of the figure that had slipped 
into the shadows; but the listener could hear 
softened steps in the underbrush, and the 
crackling of dead branches. Was it Saunders 
who at last had found his man? Instinctively 
Mark resolved to protect, for did he not love 
her? He watched the shrubbery, and soon he 
saw a face peer out; but it was not the face 
of Saunders. It was a strange face, youthful, 
but bearded and grim, and a gun was poised 
beside it. Mark lay quite still, for now he 
heard the lovers’ steps returning; but he never 
took his gaze off that terrible face. He saw 
the gun lifted and he prepared to spring; but 
when the man and the girl came into sight the 
gun barrel dropped, and the face disappeared. 
In an instant Mark realized that it was the 


138 


Charred Wood 


man and not the girl who was threatened, and 
that nothing would be done while she was 
there. 

The lovers stood before the tree, saying good- 
bye. 

You will come back, Luigi? ” the girl asked 
anxiously. 

“ I will come when you call, my beloved.” 

“ But if they find you? ” 

“ They will not find me.” 

“ Then we can go away. There is a great 
West in this country. I have my jewels, you 
know. We could hide. We could live like 
other people. We could be just alone together.” 

But would you be happy, Carlotta?” 

“ I should be happy anywhere with you, 
Luigi. It is too much to pay for being a 
duchess, to lose all I want in life.” 

‘‘ But many duchesses must do that, you 
know. I never have asked such a sacrifice, 
though, God knows, I have wanted it.” 

“ You have never asked, Luigi, and that makes 
me all the more happy to give. I will tell you 
when to come.” 

With an ardent embrace the two parted. She 



Saunders looked long and earnestly at his face. 
“ He's the man ! ” he announced. 




139 


At the Mystery Tree 

stepped inside the tree and closed the door. 

The young officer turned. Mark knew that 
the time had come for action, and jumped for 
the other side — but too late. There was no 
sound, but powder burned Mark’s hand — 
powder from the muffled gun barrel which he 
had tried to knock aside. The lover stood for 
an instant with his eyes wide open, as if in 
wonder at a strange shock, but only for an 
instant. Mark sprang to his side, and caught 
him as he fell to the ground. There was a 
heavy crashing through the underbrush, then 
a voice was raised in an oath and there was the 
sound of a struggle. Mark looked up as Saun- 
ders broke through the bushes dragging after 
him the body of the murderer. Dropping his 
unconscious burden, the detective came up to 
where Mark was bending over the victim and 
pulled a little electric glow lamp from his 
pocket. 

“ Let me look at him, Griffin,” he said. He 
looked long and earnestly at the man’s face, 
then snapped off the light. 

“ He’s the man,” he announced. 

Who is he? ” asked Mark quickly. 


140 


Charred Wood 


“ The man I told you about — the man I 
took you for — the man for whose sake the 
Duchess ran away — the chap I wa^ watching 
for.’’ 

‘‘And the other?” Mark nodded toward 
the gunman, who still lay unconscous. 

“ Oh, he doesn’t matter.” Saunders spoke 
carelessly. “ He’ll get out of it. It’s all been 
arranged, of course. They really sent me here 
to watch her; evidently they had him trailed 
from the beginning.” 

Crossing over, Saunders again snapped on his 
light, and examined the face and clothing of the 
murderer. 

“ It’s easy to see, Griffin, what the game was. 
This chap is one of the foreigners at the rail- 
road camp. He can say he was out hunting 
— shooting squirrels — anything.” 

“ He can’t say that,” put in Mark quickly, 
“ for I saw him do it. I tried to stop him.” 

Saunders turned quickly to Mark. 

“ Forget it, Griffin,” he said earnestly. “ You 
saw nothing. Keep out of it. If it were only 
a common murder, I’d tell you to speak. But 
this is no common murder. There are inter- 


141 


At the Mystery Tree 

national troubles mixed up in it. No one will 
thank you, and you will only get into diffi- 
culties. Why, the biggest men in the country 
would have a special messenger down here 
inside of twenty-four hours to keep you silent 
if they knew who were behind this thing. For 
God’s sake, leave it alone. Let this fellow tell 
his story.” He pointed to the man who was 
now coming to his senses. He has it all 
prepared.” 

“ I’ll leave it alone only if the man is dead ; 
but, good God! you can’t expect me to leave 
him here to the mercy of that brood if he’s only 
wounded.” 

The detective smiled grimly. 

‘‘Wounded! Why, Griffin, do you think 
they would send a man who would miss? Come, 
look at him.” 

Mark placed his hand over the young offi- 
cer’s heart. He felt for the pulse, and looked 
into the face. 

“ Come, Saunders,” he said, “ we can do 
nothing for him.” 


CHAPTER XI 


THIN ICE 

I don’t think you quite realize, Griffin,” 
Saunders’ voice had quite an uneasy tremor in 
it, as he spoke, that you are in some danger.” 

The detective was sitting in Mark’s bedroom, 
and the clock was striking midnight in the 
hotel office below. They had returned together 
from the bluff road and had been discussing the 
tragedy ever since. 

“ I think I do,” Mark answered, but I 
don’t very much care.” 

Then,” said Saunders, “ you English have 
some nerves ! ” 

“ You forget, Saunders, that I am not quite 
English. I am half Irish^ and the Irish have 
^ some nerves.’ But I am really hit very hard. 
I suppose it’s the English in me that won’t let 
me show it.” 

Saunders did not answer for a moment. Then 
he took Kis cigar out of his mouth. 

142 


Thin Ice 


143 


“Nerves?” he repeated half laughingly. 
“ Yes, nerves they have, but in the singular 
number.” 

“Beg pardon?” 

“ Oh, I forgot that your education in United 
States has been sadly neglected. I mean to 
say that they have nerve, not nerves.” 

“ By which you mean — ? ” 

“ Something that you will need very soon — 
grit.” 

“I — I don’t quite understand yet, my dear 
fellow. Why?” 

The face of Saunders was serious now. The 
danger that confronted both of them was no 
chimera. 

“ Look here, Griffin,” he broke out, “ that 
murderer did this thing under orders. He 
either has had a story fixed up for him by his 
employers, or he will try to put the deed off 
on someone else. An explanation must be given 
when the body is discovered in the morning. 
All was certainly foreseen, for these chaps take 
no chances. Now, you may wager a lot that 
his superiors, or their representatives, are not 
far away; no farther, in fact, than the railroad 


144 


Charred Wood 


camp. You may be sure, too, that their own 
secret service men are on the job, close by. 
The question is, what story will this fellow 
tell?” 

‘‘You can — ah — search me, Saunders,” 
retorted Mark. 

Saunders laughed. Mark had a way of 
appearing cheerful. 

“ Come now, that’s doing fine. ‘ Search 
you,’ eh? That is just exactly what the police 
probably will do.” 

“ Why? ” 

“Why? Because your being there was the 
unforeseen part of the whole tragedy. I think 
it quite upset their calculations. Your hand is 
marked with powder from the gun fire. Every- 
one will see that to-morrow. The principal 
will know something of it from the murderer. 
In fact, he probably knows now. To-morrow 
they will be searching for the man with the 
powder mark. The murderer himself can 
swear that he saw someone fire at the man 
who was killed. He may charge robbery. 
Only when the body is found shall we know 
what he is going to do. If they have taken 


Thin Ice 


145 


his money, it means that you are going to be 
arrested, for they intend putting it on you. 
Unless I am mistaken, his pockets are inside 
out right now. The powder marks alone are 
enough to fasten suspicion on you. Then, you 
were absent all day, and someone certainly 
must have seen you on the bluff road. Above 
all, you love Ruth Atheson, and lovers have 
been known to kill rivals. My detective intu- 
ition tells me, Griffin, that you stand a good 
chance of being charged with murder.” 

“ Well,” said Mark, “ I have an excellent 
witness for the defense, in one James Saunders, 
detective.” 

“ You have,” answered Saunders, but not 
at the inquest; for if James Saunders, detective, 
shows his hand then, he will not live to testify 
at the trial, where his testimony, sprung as a 
surprise, might be useful.” 

“ You mean that they would — ” 

“Just so,” Saunders nodded wisely; “that’s 
just what they would do. On the other hand, 
that fellow may stick to the story, whatever it 
is, that they had fixed up for him. It looks 
reasonable to me that he would be instructed 


146 


Charred Wood 


to do that. He may come forward when the 
body is found, and give himself up, saying that 
he was out shooting coons, or some other ani- 
mals that you can best get at night, and that 
one of his bullets must have killed the man. 
That looks like the easiest way out of it.” 

“ That sounds all right, Saunders,” answered 
Mark, but I incline to the other theory. I 
think they’ll accuse me. Their first plan would 
have been best if nobody had seen the deed. 
But since they know someone did see it, they’ll 
probably try to be on the safe side. Fortu- 
nately, they don’t know there were two of us, 
which leaves me better off.” 

If they find there was another,” said the 
detective, you’ll be safer in jail. Lives count 
nothing in the games of princes, and they’ll 
get us both if they can.” 

Then you’re in danger yourself, Saunders.” 

Not yet. As you remarked, they don’t 
know there was another. You see, it was dark 
among the trees, and I caught the fellow in 
the rear as he ran away. He would naturally 
think that the man who caught him was the 
one who jumped as he fired.” 


Thin Ice 


147 


Mark smoked thoughtfully before he spoke. 

You’re right, Saunders. My complacency 
is not so great that I do not recognize the 
danger. I merely am indifferent to danger 
under the present circumstances. It’s no use 
running away from it, and we can’t help it 
now. Let’s go to bed.” 

Well, those English-Irish nerves get me,” 
Saunders answered, as he arose and walked 
toward the door. I suppose they’re a good 
thing to have; but, Griffin, take it from me, 
you’re the worst lump of ice I ever saw. Aren’t 
you even just a little afraid?” 

“ Oh, yes,” answered Mark, I’m afraid all 
right, old man; I really am afraid. But there 
is somebody I am more afraid for than myself. 
I am worried about the lady.” 

Mark thought of what he had seen as he 
lay near the tree. Walking over to the win- 
dow, he thoughtfully pulled down the blind 
before he turned again to Saunders. “ I shall 
always love her, no matter what happens. Of 
course, I can’t marry a grand duchess, espe- 
cially one who is watched day and night; but 
I rather welcome the chance to stay near and 


148 


Charred Wood 


protect her good name if the story does come 
out. That is why I won’t go to jail for safety, 
not if I can prevent it.” 

Saunders closed the half-opened door and 
walked back into the room. 

Protect her? I don’t understand,” he said. 
Clearly bewildered, he sat down, carelessly 
swinging one leg over an arm of the big chair, 
and stared at his host. 

Mark looked up. He spoke haughtily, with 
a slight shrug of the shoulders. 

“ There is a British Ambassador in Washing- 
ton. You have a free country, so I can always 
talk to him, even if I am a prisoner or on 
bail. I happen to be brother to a baron; that 
fact may prove useful, for the first time in my 
life. One word that involves her name in 
scandal, even as Ruth Atheson, brings the story 
out. And Great Britain does not particularly 
care about your certain Big Kingdom. I am 
presuming, of course, that I have rightly 
guessed what Big Kingdom is looking after 
the interests of your Grand Duchy.” 

“You’re right, Griffin; the Ministry could 
never let her name be mentioned.” 


Thin Ice 


149 


As the grand duchess, no. But they could 
mention the name of Ruth Atheson, the Padre’s 
friend, the Lady Bountiful of his poor, the girl 
I love. The Padre has had trouble enough, 
too, without that scandal in his little flock.” 

I don’t see how you can avoid it.” 

“ Oh, I can avoid it very simply. I can 
send word to the Ministry in question that I 
know who the lady really is, and that I am 
almost ready to talk for the public.” 

That’s right, Griffin, you could. Gee, what 
a detective you would have made! You’re sure 
right.” He arose, stretched lazily, and walked 
to the door, where he turned, his hand on the 
knob. “If it’s any consolation for you to know, 
Griffin, they won’t arrest — they’ll just stick a 
knife into you. Good night, and pleasant 
dreams.” 

“ Good night, Saunders, and thanks for your 
cheerful assurances.” 

But Mark had no dreams at all for, left 
alone, he smoked and worried over his prob- 
lem until morning. 

Very early he wrote a long letter, sealed it 
and put it in his pocket so that he could register 


150 Charred Wood 

it in person. It was addressed to the British 
Ambassador. 

As Mark passed on his way to the dining 
room, the hotel clerk gave him a note, remark- 
ing: ‘^That’s a bad-looking hand you have, 
Mr. Griffin.” 

Yes, rather.” Mark looked at his hand as 
though noticing its condition for the first time. 
Then he spoke consolingly. “ But it was the 
only one I had to put on this morning. Pleas- 
ant outside, isn’t it? ” 

But the clerk had suddenly discovered that 
his attention was needed elsewhere, and Mark 
proceeded to his breakfast. 

Sitting down, he gave his order, then opened 
the letter. It was from Ruth. I am sorry 
you were not feeling well yesterday, and hope 
you are all right now. If so, come to Killimaga 
to-day, quite early. Somehow I am always 
lonesome now. Ruth.” 

It was rather strange — or was it? — that, in 
spite of what Mark knew, he watched his 
chance and, when the waiter turned his back, 
kissed the sheet of scented paper. 

Saunders was in the hotel office when Mark 


Thin Ice 


151 


came out of the dining room. The constable 
was with him. With little difficulty Saunders 
got rid of the officer and walked over to Mark. 

Come outside,” he said. I have some 
news.” 

They left the hotel and moved down the 
street. When out of anyone’s hearing, Saun- 
ders touched Mark’s arm. 

“ I routed out the constable early this morn- 
ing — at daybreak, in fact — and sent him on 
a wild-goose chase along the bluff road. I 
wanted him to stumble onto that body, and get 
things going quickly. The sooner the cards 
are on the table, the better. His errand would 
keep him close to the Killamaga wall, on the 
roadside. He saw nothing; if he had I should 
have known it. What do you think it means? ” 
Means?” echoed Mark. “Why, it means 
that someone else has been there.” 

“ It looks that way,” admitted Saunders. 
“But why hasn’t it been reported?” 

“I think, Saunders,” Mark said thought- 
fully, “ that we had better take a walk near 
the wall ourselves.” 

“ I was going to suggest that very thing.” 


152 


Charred Wood 


The morning was not beautiful. The chill 
wind of autumn had come up, and the pleasant 
weather that Mark had taken the trouble to 
praise was vanishing. The clouds were dark 
and gloomy, threatening a storm. When the 
men reached the bluff road, they saw that the 
ocean was disturbed, and that great white- 
capped waves were beating upon the beach 
below. Their own thoughts kept both of them 
in tune with the elements. Neither spoke a 
word as they rapidly covered the distance 
between the town and the spot of the tragedy. 
But instinctively, as if caught by the same 
aversion, both slackened pace as they neared 
the wall of Killimaga. Going slowly now 
they turned out of the road and approached 
the tree, looking fearfully down at the grass. 
They reached the spot whereon they had left 
the body the evening before. There was no 
body there. 

They searched the bushes and the long grass, 
but there was no sign of anything out of the 
ordinary. Closely they examined the ground; 
but not a trace of blood was to be seen, nor 
any evidence of conflict. Saunders was stupe- 


Thin Ice 153 

fied, and Mark showed signs of growing 
wonder. 

“ It isn’t here,” half whispered Saunders. 

And it isn’t in the bushes. What do you 
make of it, Griffin?” 

Mark answered hesitatingly and half- 
nervously. 

“ I can’t make anything out of it, unless 
they have decided to hush the whole thing up, 
figuring that the men who interfered will never 
tell. They disposed of the body overnight 
and covered all their traces. Unless I am 
mistaken, no one will ever find it or know that 
the murder took place at all.” 

Then,” said Saunders emphatically, “ they 
certainly had one of the big fellows here to 
see that it was properly done.” 

It looks probable,” replied Mark; “for a 
common murderer would not have planned so 
well. An expert was on this crime. The body 
is disposed of finally.” 

Saunders looked around nervously. 

“ We had better go back, Griffin. There’s 
nothing left for us to do, and they may be 
watching.” 


154 


Charred Wood 


Both men left the spot and returned to town ; 
but they were no longer silent. Mark was 
decidedly anxious, and Saunders voiced his 
worry in tones that shook. 

“ I have more fear than ever for your sake, 
Griffin, and I’m beginning to have some for 
my own. Those fellows know how to act 
quickly and surely. Their principal is in 
Washington. He has had word already by 
cipher as to what has happened. He won’t 
rest until he finds the witness, and then — ” 

“And then?” 

“ I’m afraid they will try another murder. 
They won’t trust a living soul to hold his peace 
under the circumstances.” 

“ But how are they to know I saw the 
thing?” 

“ By your hand. In fact, I think they know 
already.” 

“ Already? ” 

“ Yes. There was somebody about when we 
were there, and he was evidently hiding.” 

“ You heard him? ” 

“ Yes. I didn’t want to alarm you. I have 
reason now to be alarmed for myself. They 


Thin Ice 


1S5 


know I am in it. WeVe got to think quickly 
and act quickly. The minute that orders come 
they will try to get us. As long as we stay 
in public places we are safe. But we must 
not go out alone any more.” 

The two went on to the hotel. Saunders 
glanced back as they were entering the town. 
His eyes covered the hedge. 

I thought so,” he said. “ That chap has 
been dodging in and out of the trees and keep- 
ing watch on us. From this point he can see 
right along the street to the hotel door. It’s 
no use trying to conceal anything now. Our 
only safety lies in keeping in public places; 
but they won’t strike till they get their orders.” 

As the two entered the hotel, a messenger 
boy came up carrying two telegrams. The 
clerk nodded to the boy, who went over to 
Mark and Saunders. 

“Which is Mr. Saunders?” he asked. The 
detective reached out his hand and the boy 
gave him one of the messages. “ The other 
one,” he said, “ is for Mr. Griffin. 

“ Sign here, please.” The boy extended his 
book. Both men signed and the boy went 


156 


Charred Wood 


out. Sitting down in a corner of the writing 
room, Mark and Saunders looked at one 
another, then at the yellow envelopes. 

“ Why don’t you open your telegram, Saun- 
ders?” asked Mark. 

‘‘Because I know pretty well what’s in it. 
I guessed it would be coming. I am ordered 
off this case, for the men who employed our 
agency have no use for me after last night. 
They have found everything out for them- 
selves, and have settled it in their own way. 
Why don’t you open yours?” 

“For opposite reasons to yours, old chap: 
because I don’t know what’s in it, and, what- 
ever it is, I don’t think I shall like it. I have 
not had many messages of this kind. None 
but my solicitors would send one, and that 
means trouble. But here goes ! ” 

Mark tore off the end of the envelope, 
opened the message and read. Saunders did 
the same with his. One glance was enough 
for each. 

“ I told you so,” said Saunders. “ Here’s my 
message: ‘ Central disconnected.’ ” 

Mark looked up with surprise. 


Thin Ice 157 

^ Central disconnected’? What’s that, 
Saunders? More United States?” 

It’s our code,” replied the detective, for 
^ Come back to the central office at once. Our 
connection with the case is at an end.’ ” 
There was a trace of pain in Mark’s face, 
as he handed his own telegram over for Saun- 
ders to read. It was from New York: 

“ Harvey, Sullivan and Riggs, your 
solicitors, wire us to find you and say 
that your brother is dead and that you 
are to return at once.” 

I’m sorry, Griffin, very sorry.” There was 
real sympathy in Saunders’ voice. “ Perhaps 
it is better that you should go. It may be a 
way out. Your Ambassador can help you. I’ve 
got to stay and face it. Yes, it would be better 
for you to go,” 

You’re wrong, Saunders.” Mark’s voice 
had a decided note in it. My disappearance 
might complicate the international part of the 
situation. Baron Griffin was a member of the 
House of Lords, and quite a personage. And 
I am the only brother of that late personage. 


158 


Charred Wood 


He had no children. I can fight better here — 
as Baron Griffin.” 

“Great Scott!” cried Saunders. “Come to 
think of it, you are Baron Griffin now! ” 

“Yes, I am, and only half sorry for it, much 
as I regret my brother’s death. What are you 
going to do, Saunders?” 

The detective looked embarrassed. 

“ I didn’t intend to tell you, but I guess 
I will. I’m going to throw up my job. I’m 
in this thing and I’m going to stay and see it 
out.” 

“Good old chap!” answered Mark. “I 
thought you would. But can you afford it?” 

“Frankly, I can’t; but I’m going to do it 
just the same.” 

“ Saunders,” said Mark, “ I think I need 
the services of a sort of detective.” 

“ You mean a protective bodyguard.” 

“ Put it as you like — any way that will let 
me pay you for your time. You say you are 
going to stay on the case. I want to have you 
on it. You may not need me badly, but I’m 
sure that I need you.” 

“Then you want me to apply for the job?” 


Thin Ice 


159 


“ I’d employ you if you would take it, old 
chap.” 

“ Then I apply. I never asked for a job 
before, but I want this one. Shake!” 

The men shook hands and started to go 
upstairs. When they were out of hearing, the 
clerk called up a number on the telephone. 


CHAPTER XII 

HIS EXCELLENCY SUGGESTS 

In an upstairs room of a Washington Min- 
istry three men sat in conference. One, a stout, 
bearded man, was seated behind a flat-top 
desk on which he constantly thrummed with 
nervous fingers ; the others sat facing him. The 
man at the desk was the Minister of a King- 
dom, and looked it. His eyes were half closed, 
as if in languid indifference, effectually veiling 
their keenness. The expression of his mouth 
was lost in the dark moustache, and in the 
beard combed from the center. The visible 
part of his face would have made a gambler’s 
fortune; and, save for its warm color, it might 
have been carved out of ice. Without ever 
a hint of harshness or loudness, his voice was 
one to command attention; though it came out 
soft and velvety, it was with the half assur- 
ance that it could ring like steel if the occasion 
arose. The occasion never arose. The hands, 
160 


His Excellency Suggests 161 

whose lingers thrummed on the glass-topped 
desk, were soft, warm-looking, and always 
moist, with a dampness that on contact made 
you feel vaguely that you had touched oil — 
and you had. 

Both of the other men were beardless, but 
one had the ghost of a moustache on his upper 
lip. He was dapper, clean and deferential. 
The other was short and somewhat ungainly 
in build, and his face showed evidence of the 
recent shaving off of a heavy beard. He had 
no graces, and evidently no thoughts but of 
service — service of any kind, so long as he 
recognized the authority demanding it. His 
clothes did not suit him ; they were rich 
enough, but they were not his kind. A soldier 
of the ranks, a sailor before the mast, a laborer 
on Sunday, could have exchanged clothes with 
this'man and profited in values, while the other 
would certainly have profited in looks. 

“You did not see the other, then, Ivan?” 
the fat man asked, interrupting the story of 
his awkward guest. 

“ I did not, Excellency. He came at me too 
quickly, and I had no idea there was anyone 


162 Charred Wood 

there besides myself and — and the person 
who — ” 

‘‘ Yes, yes. The person who is now without 
a name. Go on.” 

I was in the shrubs, near a great large 
tree that seemed to form part of a wall, when 
the two, the person and a lady, came back 
together. She — ” 

“ Did they act as if they knew one another? ” 

The man smiled. “ Excellency, they acted as 
if they knew one another quite well. They 
embraced.” 

That you did not see, Ivan?” 

“ No, Excellency, of course, I did not see 
that:' 

“ Proceed, Ivan.” 

“ After they — parted. Excellency, the lady 
opened the tree and went into it.” 

Opened the tree? ” The nervous fingers 
were stilled. 

^^Yes, Excellency. It must have been a 
door.” 

Rather odd for America, I should say. Eh, 
Wratslav? ” 

The dapper man bowed. “ As you say, 


His Excellency Suggests 163 

Excellency, it is rather unusual in America.” 

Proceed, Ivan.” The Minister resumed his 
thrumming. 

When the lady closed the tree and was 
gone, the — ah — person — turned to go past 
me. My gun had the silencer on which Your 
Excellency — ” 

“ You are forgetting again, Ivan.” The half- 
closed eyes opened for an instant, and the steel 
was close underneath the velvet of the tone. 

Which Your Excellency has no doubt 
heard of.” 

Oh, yes — Maxim’s.” 

My gun exploded — but noiselessly. Excel- 
lency, because of the silencer — just as the 
strange man jumped at me. The — ah — per- 
son fell, and I ran. The strange man followed 
and caught me. I fought, but he knew where 
to hit; and when I awoke I was alone with 
the — person — who had, most unfortunately, 
been killed when the gun went off. I came 
back and — ” he glanced at the one who had 
been called Wratslav — “he came with me.” 

The Minister looked inquiringly toward the 
dapper man, who then took up the story. 


164 


Charred Wood 


“ We thought it better to dispose of the — 
person, Excellency, and avoid — ” 

Exactly. You did well. That will do, 
Ivan. You may return to your duties.” 

The man arose and went toward the door, 
but the Minister stopped him. 

One moment, Ivan. Do you think we 
could find the other? — the man who struck 
you? ” 

I think his face, or hands, or arms, would 
be marked by the gun fire. Excellency.” 

“ Thank you, Ivan.” 

The rough man bowed himself out. For a 
while the Minister sat silent, gazing contem- 
platively at the fingers which were moving 
more slowly now as though keeping pace with 
his thoughts. Finally he looked up. 

Did you find out if there were any strangers 
in town last night, Wratslav?” 

“ There were two. Excellency. One was our 
own detective, who knew not at all that I was 
on the work. The other was an Englishman — 
the same who visits the lady.” 

H-m, h-mmmm.” The tones were long 
drawn out, and again His Excellency was silent, 


His Excellency Suggests 165 

considering what this new development might 
mean. The fingers ceased their thrumming and 
closed around a delicate ivory paper-knife 
which lay near by. When the Minister again 
spoke, he did so slowly, carefully, weighing 
each word. 

“Have you seen him — the Englishman — 
since? ” 

“ No, Excellency — ” 

“ No? ” The word came with cold emphasis. 

“The hotel clerk, who is friendly — for a 
consideration — telephoned me that the Eng- 
lishman was out at the time of the accident, 
and that his hand was burned slightly, and 
showed powder marks.” 

“So! He has said nothing to the authori- 
ties?” 

“ Not a word, so far as I have heard.” 

“ Strange. Why should he conceal the 
matter? ” 

“ He might think that he would be sus- 
pected.” 

“ True, true. That is well spoken, Wratslav. 
But yet he knows a little too much, does he 
not?” 


166 


Charred Wood 


A great deal too much, Excellency/’ 

“ There is no certainty that he does not know 
also who the lady is.” 

He goes to see her, Excellency.” 

The ivory knife swayed delicately, rhyth- 
mically, in the mobile fingers, then was still. 
The Minister spoke deliberately. 

It would be well if he did not go again — 
did not speak to her again for that matter — ” 
The heavy lids flickered for an instant as His 
Excellency flashed one look of keen intent 
towards his hearer as though to emphasize the 
portent of his words. Then the smooth voice 
continued, “ if it could be arranged.” 

“ It can be arranged. Excellency.” 

I thought so.” Again the keen look. Then 
the Minister leaned back in his chair, revolving 
it slightly that his arm might rest more com- 
fortably on the desk. 

Excellency? ” Wratslav spoke with some 
anxiety. 

Yes?” 

Unfortunately, the Englishman is a person 
of some consequence in his own country.” 

Indeed? One Griffin, is he not?” 


His Excellency Suggests 167 

His brother is dead. He died last week. 
The Englishman is now Baron Griffin.” 

The fingers tightened around the ivory knife. 

That,” the Minister’s voice became softer 
and even more velvety, that is unfortunate.” 
There was silence again. The knife was laid 
down, and the fingers moved slowly, heavily, 
on the desk. Still, I think, Wratslav, that 
Ivan should continue to work on the railroad 
— and you also — while the excellent shooting 
continues near — ah — the camp. It seems 
best.” 

The telephone on the desk tinkled. His 
Excellency picked up the receiver. 

^^Yes, someone will come down.” 

He hung up the receiver and turned to 
Wratslav. 

There is a telegram downstairs. Go down 
and get it and bring it here. Hurry.” 

The secretary was back in a few moments 
with the envelope, which he handed to the 
Minister, who cut it open and read the mes- 
sage. The ivory knife snapped in the tense 
grip; His Excellency looked idly at the pieces, 
but never a line of his face moved. 


168 


Charred Wood 


Matters are a trifle more complicated, 
Wratslav. We must think again.’’ He handed 
the telegram to his assistant. It read: 

A British subject presents his com- 
pliments to Your Excellency, and begs 
to assure you that the statement which 
he has written and sent under seal to 
the British Ambassador in Washing- 
ton will not be opened or its contents 
made known to anyone except in the 
event of the sudden demise of Baron 
Griffin or James Saunders.” 

Wratslav returned the message to His Excel- 
lency and sat waiting. The slow thrumming 
was resumed. Then the Minister turned back 
to his desk, and his hand strayed to the papers 
on it. 

We may, perhaps, need both you and Ivan 
here in Washington for some time yet, 
Wratslav.” 

‘^Yes, Excellency.” 

The silence lasted a full minute. 

‘‘About the lady, Wratslav — ” the Minister 
almost smiled; “it would be a great honor 
were she to visit the Ministry soon.” 


His Excellency Suggests 169 

Would she come, Excellency? ” 

The question was ignored. 

“ A very fast automobile could be used. It 
could be made quite comfortable, I think.” 

“ If she made no outcry. Excellency. There 
is that danger — and of gossip also.” 

“ That, too, might be arranged.” 

“ But if she proves — ” 

“She will not — not if I announce, after 
receiving your telegram, that her arrival is 
momentarily expected — traveling incognito, 
you see — no fuss or receptions — but a short 
visit before sailing back to Europe. Over 
there it has been given out that she is traveling, 
so they know nothing outside the court. The 
King is anxious.” There was another flashing 
look from the keen eyes before the slow, “ He 
rewards well,” spoken with meaning emphasis. 

Wratslav answered the look. “ I will try. 
Excellency.” 

“To try is not sufficient, Wratslav.” 

“ I will do it, Excellency.” 

“ That is better.” 

So it came to pass that the dapper young man 
called Wratslav, and the rough one called Ivan, 


170 


Charred Wood 


left next day in a fast automobile whose lim- 
ousine body seemed especially built to inter- 
fere as little as possible with its speed. Why 
it was kept constantly stored with provisions, 
and why it carried ropes and a tent of silk, 
no one of the workers in the camp knew; for 
none of them ever saw those things — or indeed 
ever saw the interior of the car at all. 


CHAPTER XIII 

THE ABDUCTION 

Father Murray called at the hotel two days 
later and inquired for Mr. Griffin. Mark was 
in his room and hastened down. 

I must apologize, Father,” he began, that 
you had to come for me. I should not have 
let such a thing happen. But I thought it best 
not to break in upon you after — ” Mark 
stopped, deeply chagrined at having almost 
touched what must be a painful subject to the 
priest. ^‘I — I — ” 

But Father Murray smiled indulgently. 

“ Don’t, please, Mark. I am quite reconciled 
to that now. A few hours with my Imitation 
heals all such wounds. Why, I am beginning to 
know its comforts by heart, like that one I 
inflicted on you the other day. Here’s my latest 
pet: ‘What can be more free than he who 
desires nothing on earth?’” 

“ Fine — but a certain pagan was before your 
171 


172 


Charred Wood 


monk with that,” said Mark. “ Wasn’t it 
Diogenes who, asked by Alexander the Great to 
name a favor the emperor could bestow upon 
him, asked His Majesty to step out of the sun- 
light? Surely he had all the philosophy of 
your quotation? ” 

“He had,” smiled back the priest; “but, as 
Mrs. O’Leary has the religion which includes 
the best of philosophy, so our a Kempis had 
more than Diogenes. Philosophy is good to 
argue one into self-regulation; but religion is 
better, because it first secures the virtue and 
then makes you happy in it. ‘ Unless a man 
be at liberty from all things created, he cannot 
freely attend to the things divine.’ It is the 
attending to things divine that really makes true 
liberty.” 

“ Then,” said Mark, “ I am forgiven for my 
failure to call, for I left you free for the more 
important things.” 

Father Murray laughed. “You are quite a 
master in the art of making excuses, my dear 
Mark. You are forgiven, so far as I am con- 
cerned. But I am not the only one who has 
been neglected.” 


The Abduction 


173 


“ That is true, Father. Won’t you let me 
walk with you? I want to speak about a mat- 
ter of importance.” 

So the friends walked along the main street 
of Sihasset and out toward the Bluff Road. 
Mark was silent for a long time, wondering 
how he could approach the subject. When he 
spoke he went directly to the point: 

Father, you know that I love Miss 
Atheson?” 

Yes.” 

You approve? ” 

Decidedly.” 

But I am not of her faith.” 

You are. Lax you may be in practice, but 
you are too good to stay long satisfied with 
present conditions. I am frank, my dear 
Mark.” 

And you would trust me? ” 

Absolutely.” 

At first, I could not quite see why I fell 
in love with her so soon, after having escaped 
the pleasant infliction for so long a time. Now 
I think I know. Do you remember ever hav- 
ing met me before?” 


174 


Charred Wood 


“ I have no such recollection.” 

“ Did you know some people named Mee- 
champ? ” 

I knew a family of that name in London. 
They were parishioners of mine during my 
short pastorate there, before I became a 
Catholic.” 

“ Then you did meet me before. I was 
present at your farewell sermon. I was visiting 
the Meechamps at the time. That sermon 
made a lifelong impression on me. After hear- 
ing it I was worried about my own state of 
mind, for I had given up the practice of the 
very religion you were sacrificing your pros- 
pects to embrace. I went in to your study to see 
you that morning.” 

“ Ah, now I remember,” exclaimed the priest. 

So it was you who came to see me? ” 

‘‘Yes; and I have never forgotten your last 
words to me: ‘Remember this: the door we 
are passing through this morning, going in 
opposite directions, is never locked.’ But let 
that pass. I want to come quickly to something 
else. That morning a little girl sat all alone 
in a pew near your study door. She spoke to 


The Abduction 


175 


me as I came out: ‘ Is he crying? ” she asked. 
I answered, ^ I’m afraid, my dear, that he is.’ 
She bristled at once : ^ Did you make him 

cry? ’ I had to smile at her tone of proprietor- 
ship in you. ^ No, my dear,’ I said, ^ I never 
make good people cry.’ That made us friends. 
‘Do you love him?’ I asked. ‘ I do. I like 
you, too, because you think he is good. Those 
others only worried him.’ Father, I haven’t 
quoted her exact words, of course, but the sub- 
stance. I kissed her. The last I saw of your 
church in London included that little girl. I 
looked back from the door as I was going out; 
she was kneeling on the pew seat waving her 
hand after me. I never forgot the face — nor 
the kiss. Now I know I have met her again 
— a woman. Quite by accident I saw, at 
Killimaga, a picture of you and that little girl 
taken years ago in London together. Both 
have changed ; it was only last night that mem- 
ory proved true and the faces in the picture 
identified themselves. Do you understand 
now? ” 

“ I do,” said Father Murray. “ It is a 
remarkable story. I wonder if Ruth remem- 


176 


Charred Wood 


bers you. She told me all about the ‘ nice 
young gentleman ’ when I came out of the study 
to take her home.” 

“ Then you knew her family well? ” 

Her mother was my sister.” 

^^Your sister!” 

Exactly. You are surprised? ” 

Mark was dumfounded rather than merely 
surprised. 

“ I do not, then, understand some other 
things,” he stammered. 

“ Please be explicit.” 

“ Father, I have already told you of the 
detective. You yourself figured out, correctly, 
as it proves, a connection between his activities 
and the well-dressed men in the labor camp. 
You yourself saw the diplomat who was here. 
I now know why they are watching Miss 
Atheson. They take her for a runaway grand 
duchess. They are confident she is the one 
they have been instructed to watch. Several 
things have happened within the last forty- 
eight hours. I am convinced Miss Atheson is 
in danger; and I don’t understand some things 
I have myself seen, if she is really your niece.” 


The Abduction 


177 


Will you just continue to trust me, my dear 
Mark? ” asked Father Murray anxiously. 
Certainly, Father.” 

Then do not question me on this point. 
Only wait.” 

The men walked on in silence, both thought- 
ful, for five minutes. Then all at once Mark 
thought of the charge the Bishop had put upon 
him. Here was his chance. 

Father, one good has come out of this talk. 
Listen! ” Mark related the incident of his ride 
with the Bishop, and all that had passed. You 
see. Father,” he said when the story was fin- 
ished, your reputation will be cleared now.” 

Father Murray could not conceal his grati- 
fication; but he soon became grave again. 

‘‘ You are right,” he said, and I am deeply 
grateful to you. I knew there was some unfor- 
tunate misunderstanding, but I never thought 
of that. My old Bishop knew all the circum- 
^ stances, and instructed me to keep silence so 
far as others were concerned. But I thought 
that — ” Father Murray seemed puzzled. His 
mind had reverted to the seminary days in 
Rome. Then his brow cleared, as though he 


178 


Charred Wood 


had come to some decision, and he spoke slowly. 

For the present it is best that no explanation 
be attempted. Will your trust stand the strain 
of such a test, Mark?’^ 

Mark’s answer was to put out his hand. 
Father Murray’s eyes were wet as he took it. 

Before Mark had noticed, they had arrived at 
the place of the tragedy. Mark stopped and 
related the story of the shooting. Father Mur- 
ray stood as though petrified while he listened. 
His face showed the deepest agitation. It was 
some minutes before he could speak. 

You are in New England, Mark. Those 
things are not done here.” 

Father Murray, do you see the powder 
marks on my hand? Yes? I got them trying 
to throw up the gun that killed the young 
officer.” 

Father Murray’s reply was cut short. Before 
he could utter two words, the tree was sud- 
denly thrown open. Madame Neuville sprang 
out of it, screaming. Her hair was disheveled, 
her dress torn, and blood was trickling down 
her cheek from a small wound — evidently 
the result of a blow. 


The Abduction 


179 


Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! she cried, wring- 
ing her hands. “ Miss Ruth is gone. They 
have taken her away in a great car. Mon Dieu, 
Father! Come — come at once!” 

The priest stepped into the tree, and Mark 
followed closely. As he had surmised, the tree 
was a secret entrance into the grounds of Killi- 
maga. Madam^e Neuville pointed to the main 
entrance of the estate and to the road showing 
beyond the open gates, “ The North Road,” 
Sihasset called it. 

That way!” she cried. “They went that 
way. There were two of them. They were 
hiding by the wall and seized her just as we 
were going out. I was behind Miss Ruth and 
they did not see me at first. I tried to fight 
them, but one of them struck me and they went 
off like the wind. Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! 
Let me die! ” 

“ Stop, please.” The sternness of Mark’s 
voice effectually silenced the weeping woman. 
“What were those men like?” 

“ Big, so big. One had bushy eyebrows that 
frown always. He was dark and short, but he 
was very large of the shoulders.” 


180 


Charred Wood 


Mark turned to Father Murray. 

It is useless to follow in a car, Father. 
The man she describes is the murderer. I saw 
the car early this morning; it is a seventy horse- 
power, and nothing but a racing car could 
catch it now. The lady is safe, in any event. 
They will carry her to Washington. When 
they find she is not the Grand Duchess, they 
will let her go. Will you come to Washington 
with me? ” 

Her mother was my twin sister, and she 
herself has been as a daughter to me ever since 
I first saw her, a babe in arms,” replied Father 
Murray. Let us go.” 

Madame Neuville rushed toward the great 
house, but the two men stepped back through 
the tree and hurriedly returned to Sihasset. 


CHAPTER XIV 

THE INEXPLICABLE 

Saunders, having selected the most comfort- 
able chair in the hotel lobby, was dozing 
placidly when Mark rushed in, and shook the 
detective vigorously. 

“Wake up,” he called. “Will you come 
with me to Washington? When is there a 
train connecting with the Congressional Lim- 
ited? Father Murray wants to catch that” 

Saunders was alert in an instant 

“Sure, I’ll go. Train leaves in fifty min- 
utes; you get the Limited at the Junction — 
have to wait nearly an hour for the connection, 
though. What’s up?” 

“Hurry! I’ll tell you later. Pack only 
what you need. Here, you pay the bills.” 
Mark shoved his purse into Saunders’ hands. 
“Keep the rooms; we’ll need them when we 
return. I’m off. Oh, yes! I forgot” Mark 
stopped on his way to the stairs. “ Telephone 
the Padre about the train.” 


181 


182 


Charred Wood 


In good time, Father Murray, Mark and 
Saunders stood at the end of the station plat- 
form, grips in hand. 

“ Now, open up,” said Saunders. “ What’s 
wrong? ” 

Mark looked inquiringly at the priest. 
Father Murray briefly gave the detective a 
resume of what had occurred, including the 
information which had so stunned Mark Griffin, 
and now had an even more stunning effect on 
Saunders, the information regarding the priest’s 
relationship to Ruth Atheson. 

“ But, Father, this looks like the impossible. 
It’s unbelievable that these people could be 
mistaken about someone they had trailed from 
Europe. They were so sure about it that they 
killed that officer.” 

Ruth Atheson is my sister’s daughter, Mr. 
Saunders,” was the only answer vouchsafed by 
the priest. He boarded the train, followed by 
his companions. 

Saunders sat in puzzled silence till the junc- 
tion point was reached. Then the three 
alighted, and Father Murray turned to the 
detective. 


183 


The Inexplicable 

Mr. Saunders, I am going to ask a favor 
of you. I do not know how long I may be 
away, and my parish is unattended. The Bishop 
is here to-day on his Confirmation tour, and I 
am going to take Mr. Griffin with me and call 
on him. Will you remain here in charge of 
our effects? ” 

“ Sure, Father. Go on.” He glanced toward 
the bulletin board. “ The Limited is late, and 
you have more than an hour yet. I’ll telegraph 
for sleeper reservations.” 

Father Murray and Mark started out for the 
rectory. Very little was said on the way. The 
priest was sad and downcast, Mark scarcely 
less so. 

“ I almost fear to meet the Bishop, Mark,” 
Father Murray remarked, as they approached 
the rectory, “after that shock the other day; 
but I suppose it has to be done.” 

The Bishop was alone in his room and sent 
for them to come up. There was a trace of 
deep sorrow in his attitude toward the priest, 
joined to surprise at the visit. To Mark he 
was most cordial. 

“ My Lord,” the priest began, “ circumstances 


184 


Charred Wood 


compel me to go to Washington for a few days, 
perhaps longer. My parish is unattended. The 
matter which calls me is urgent. Could you 
grant me leave of absence, and send someone to 
take my place? ” 

The Bishop glanced at Mark before he 
answered. Mark met his gaze with a smile that 
was full of reassurance. The Bishop seemed 
to catch the message, for he at once granted 
Father Murray’s request. 

“ Certainly, Monsignore, you may go. I 
shall send a priest on Saturday, and telegraph 
Father Darcy to care for any sick calls in the 
meantime.” 

Mark lingered a moment as Father Murray 
passed out. The Bishop’s eyes were appealing, 
and Mark could not help whispering: 

It will all come out right. Bishop. Cease 
worrying. When we return I think you will 
feel happier. Your message was carried to 
Monsignore.” 

At the station Saunders was waiting. Every- 
thing is arranged,” he announced. I tried 
to get drawing-rooms or compartments, but 
they were all gone. The last was taken five 


185 


I The Inexplicable 

I minutes before I telephoned. I have sections 
I for you both and a lower for myself. It was 
r the best possible, so late.” 
rt When the train came in and they had dis- 
I posed of their effects, Father Murray sat down 
and took out his breviary. Mark and Saun- 
ders, anxious for a smoke, sought the buffet 
ij car five coaches ahead. They sat down and 

I Mark passed the detective his cigarette case. 

Thanks, no,” said Saunders. I like the 
long black fellows best.” He pulled a cigar 
out of his pocket and lighted it. He appeared 
nervous. 

“ Griffin,” he said, after a long silence, “ there 
; is something peculiar about this whole busi- 
; ness.” 

[ “ Yes, I know that very well.” 

[ It is quite a little more peculiar than you 
1, think. The abduction of the lady was no sur- 
i prise to me. It is quite in line with what I 
expected. They had to get her somehow. The 
I way they are supposed to have taken would 
I probably look the best way to them.” 

;i ^ ‘ Supposed to have taken?’ What do you 

I mean? ” 


186 


Charred Wood 


“ Easy now, I’m coming to that. This lady 
cannot be the Duchess and Ruth Atheson at 
the same time.” 

Decidedly not.” 

She is one or the other.” 

Well?” 

“ Either there is no Duchess, or no Ruth 
Atheson.” 

“True; but I cannot question the Padre’s 
word. That, at least, I know is good. Then 
look at his distress.” 

“ Sure, I know that. I have been looking. 
And I’ve been thinking till my brain whirls. 
The Padre wouldn’t lie, and there’s no reason 
why he should. But if the lady is Ruth Ath- 
eson, she is not the Duchess?” 

“ N-no.” 

“ Then why did they shoot that poor devil 
of an Italian? And why the abduction?” 

“ Oh, I don’t know, Saunders.” Mark spoke 
wearily. 

“ Whoever she is, she can’t be in two places 
at one time, can she?” 

“ For heaven’s sake, Saunders! ” Mark’s look 
was wild, his weariness gone. “ What are you 


The Inexplicable 187 

driving at? You’ll have my brain reeling, too. 
What is it now? ” 

“ I thought I’d get you,” coolly retorted 
Saunders. “ Here’s where the mystery gets so 
deep that it looks as if no one can ever fathom 
it.” He paused. 

^‘Well?” snapped Mark, exasperatedly. 

^^From habit a detective is always looking 
about for clues and possible bits of informa- 
tion. And so, largely as a matter of habit, I 
glanced into every open compartment as we 
passed through the coaches. In the second car 
from this the porter was entering Drawing 
Room A. I had a clear view of the people 
inside, and — ” the speaker’s tone became 
impressive — one was that old lady who told 
you of the abduction; the other was — your 
lady of the tree.” 

Mark jumped, and seemed about to rise, but 
Saunders held him back. 

“Don’t do that; there may be others to 
notice.” 

“Ruth? You saw Ruth?” 

“ I saw that lady, Ruth Atheson or the 
Duchess, whichever she is, and the other. I 


188 


Charred Wood 


made no mistake. I know for sure. The lady 
of the tree is on this train.” 

It was very late when Mark and Saunders 
retired to their berths. Father Murray was 
already sleeping; they could hear his deep, 
regular breathing as they passed his section. 
Both were relieved, for they dreaded letting 
him know what Saunders had discovered. 
Indeed all their conversation since Saunders 
had told Mark of this new development, 
had been as to whether they should break the 
news gently to the priest, and if so, how; or 
whether it would be better to conceal it from 
him altogether. 

Mark tossed in his berth with a mind all too 
active for sleep. He was greatly troubled. 
Cold and calm without, he was far from being 
cold and calm within. When he had believed 
Ruth to be the runaway Grand Duchess he 
had tried to put her out of his heart. He knew, 
even better than Saunders, that, while there 
might be love between them, there could never 
be marriage. The laws that hedge royalty in 
were no closed book to this wanderer over 
many lands. But he had believed that she 


The Inexplicable 189 

loved him, and there had been some satisfaction 
in that, even though he knew he would have to 
give her up. But the sight of the love pas- 
sage between the girl and the unfortunate officer 
had opened his eyes to other things; not so 
much to the deep pain of having lost her, as 
to the deeper pain caused by her deception. 
What was the reason for it? There surely had 
been no need to deceive him. Or — Mark was 
startled by the thought — had it all been part 
of an elaborate plan to conceal her identity in 
fear of her royal father’s spies? Mark well 
believed that this might explain something — 
until he thought of Father Murray. There 
was no doubting the priest’s words. He had 
said positively that the girl was Ruth Atheson, 
his own niece; and Mark remembered well the 
sweet face of the child in the big London 
church fifteen years before. He knew that he 
had begun to love Ruth then, and that he could 
never love anyone else. Now came the crown- 
ing cause of worry. Supposedly abducted as 
the Grand Duchess, she was even now free, and 
attended by her own servant, in this very train. 
What part in the strange play did the false 


190 


Charred Wood 


abduction have? Mark could think of no solu- 
tion. He could only let things drift. Through 
his worries the wheels of the train kept saying: 
“You love her — you love her — ” in monot- 
onous cadence. And he knew that, in spite of 
everything, he would love her to the end. 

Then his thoughts went back to the begin- 
ning, and began again the terrible circle. De- 
spairing of getting any sleep, and too restless 
to remain in the berth, Mark determined to 
get up and have a quiet smoke. He was just 
arising when there came a most terrific crash. 
The whole car seemed to rise under him. His 
head struck sharply against the end of the 
berth and for an instant he could not think 
clearly. Then he was out. It looked as if 
one end of the car had been shattered. There 
were shouts, and cries of pain. The corridor 
was filled with frightened people scantily clad; 
a flagman rushed by with a lantern and his 
hastily-flung words were caught and repeated: 
“ Collision — train ahead — wooden car 
crushed.” Cries began to arise outside. A red 
glare showed itself at the windows. The pas- 
sengers rushed out, all white with fear. 


The Inexplicable 191 

Saunders was beside Mark. The Padre! 
Where is he?” he cried. 

“ In his berth; he may be hurt.” 

They drew back the curtains. Father Mur- 
ray was huddled down at the end of his section, 
unconscious. The blow had stunned him. Mark 
lifted him up as Saunders went for water. 
Then they carried him out and laid him down 
in the air. He opened his eyes. 

What — what is it? ” he asked. 

Wreck — there was a collision,” answered 
Saunders. 

Father Murray struggled to arise. “ Col- 
lision? Then I must go forward, if it is for- 
ward — where the people are — maybe dying.” 

Mark made no attempt to stop him. He 
knew it would be useless, and he knew, too, 
that it was only the Soldier of the Cross called 
to his battlefield. When Saunders would have 
remonstrated Mark motioned him to silence. 

“ Let him go, Saunders,” he said. Perhaps 
his whole life has been a preparation for this. 
I have given up trying to interfere with God’s 
ways.” 

So the Padre went, and his friends with him. 


192 


Charred Wood 


The dead and wounded were being borne from 
the two wrecked Pullmans, but the Padre 
seemed led by some instinct to go on to where 
the engine was buried in the torn and splin- 
tered freight cars of the other train. 

“ The engineer and the fireman ! Where 
are they? ” he asked of the frightened con- 
ductor. 

The man pointed to the heap of splinters. 

In there,” he answered. 

The priest tore at the pile, but could make 
no impression on it. 

“My God!” he cried to Mark; “they may 
need me. And I cannot get to them.” 

A groan beneath his very hands was the 
answer. The priest and Mark tore away enough 
of the splinters to see the face beneath. The 
eyes opened and, seeing the priest, the man 
essayed to speak; the priest bent low to catch 
the words. 

“ Father — don’t — risk — trying — to get 
me — out — before you hear — my confession.” 

“ But the flames are breaking out. You’ll be 
caught,” remonstrated Mark. “ You have a 
chance if we act quickly.” 


The Inexplicable 193 

The only — chance — I want — is my — 
confession. Quick — Father.” 

With his head held close to that of the dying 
man, the priest listened. The men stood back 
and saw the smoke and flames arise out of the 
pile of splintered timbers. Then the priest’s 
hand was raised in absolution. 

Quick now!” called Father Murray; “get 
him out.” 

The men stooped to obey, but saw that it was 
no use. The blood-spattered face was calm, 
and around the stilled lips there lingered a 
smile, as though the man had gone out in 
peace and unexpected contentment. 

Turning aside, they found the fireman, and 
one man from the wrecked freight, lying beside 
the tracks — both dead. Then they went to the 
lengthening line along the fence. The priest 
bent over each recumbent form. At some he 
just glanced, and passed on, for they were dead. 
For others he had only a few words, and an 
encouraging prayer. But sometimes he stopped, 
and bent his head to listen, then lifted his hand 
in absolution; and Mark knew he was shriving 
another poor soul. 


194 


Charred Wood 


Suddenly the same thought seemed to come 
to both Mark and Saunders. Quickly passing 
along the line of pain and death, they both 
looked for the same face. It was not there. 
Yet she had been in the wrecked coach. The 
light of a relief train was showing far down the 
straight track, as Mark turned to a brakeman. 

Are there any others?” 

‘‘Yes; two — across the track.” 

Mark and Saunders hastened to the other 
side. Two women were bending over the forms 
laid on the ground. One glance was enough. 
The whole world seemed to spin around Mark 
Griffin. Ruth and Madame Neuville were 
lying there — both dead. 

The strange women who were standing 
around seemed to understand. They stepped 
back. Mark knelt beside the girl’s body. He 
could not see through his tears — but they 
helped him. He tried to pray, but found that 
he could only weep. It seemed as though there 
were a flood within pushing to find exit and 
bring comfort to him. He could think of her 
now in but one setting — a great empty church 
at the end of springtime, crowds passing out- 


The Inexplicable 195 

side, a desolate man behind a closed door, and 
a little child, with the face of an angel, sitting 
alone in a carven pew. He could hear her 
answer him in her childish prattle, could feel 
her cool little hand slip into his as she asked 
about the lonely man within. Then he remem- 
bered the kiss. The floods dried up. Mark’s 
sorrow was beyond the consolation of tears. 

Saunders aroused him. 

Be careful, Griffin. The Padre will come. 
Don’t let him see her yet. He was hurt, you 
know, and he couldn’t stand it.” 

Slowly Mark arose. He couldn’t look at her 
again. Saunders said something to the women, 
and they covered both bodies with blankets 
from the wrecked car, just as the priest 
came up. 

Are there others?” the priest asked. 

Saunders looked at Mark as if begging him 
to be silent. 

^^No, Father, no others.” 

But these — ” he pointed to the blanket- 
covered bodies. 

“They are — already dead. Father.’^ 

“ God rest them. I can do no more.” 


196 


Charred Wood 


The priest turned to cross the track, and 
almost fell. Mark sprang to support him. The 
relief train came in and another priest alighted, 
with a Protestant clergyman, and the surgeons 
and nurses. 

It’s all right, Father,” said Father Murray 
to his confrere. “ I found them all and gave 
absolution. I’m afraid that I am tired. There 
are many of your people, too,” he said, turning 
to the Protestant clergyman. I wish I were 
able to go back and show — ” 

He was tired. They carried him into the 
relief train, unconscious. The young priest and 
the Protestant clergyman came frequently to 
look at him as the train sped on toward Balti- 
more. But there was no cause for alarm; 
Father Murray was only overcome by his efforts 
and the blow. In half an hour he was helping 
again, Mark and Saunders watching closely, in 
fear that he might lift the blanket that covered 
the face of Ruth Atheson. 

When Father Murray came to where she 
had been placed in the train, Mark put his 
hand on the priest’s arm. 

“Don’t, please, Father. She is dead — one 


The Inexplicable 197 

of the two you saw lying on the other side 
when you came over.” 

Yes, I know. But I should like to see.” 
Father Murray started to raise the cloth, but 
again Mark stopped him. 

“ Please do not look. Father.” 

The deep sadness in Mark’s voice caused the 
priest to stare at him with widely opened eyes. 
A look of fear came into them as he glanced 
at the covered body. For the first time he 
seemed afraid, and Saunders drew near to catch 
him. But he did not fall. 

“ I think — Mark — that I will look. I can 
drink of the chalice — if it must be — I am 
sure I can. Don’t be afraid for me, my friend. 
Draw the blanket back.” 

But Mark could not. 

Father Murray pushed him gently aside and 
lifted the covering reverently and slowly. He 
dropped it with a faint gasp as the face stood 
revealed. Then he leaned over the dead girl 
and searched the features for a full half minute, 
that seemed an age to Mark. The priest’s lips 
moved, but Mark caught only a few words: 

I thank Thee for sparing me. Lord.” 


198 


Charred Wood 


He caught the end of the blanket and once 
more covered the dead face. Then he turned 
and faced Mark and Saunders. 

God rest her. It is not Ruth.” 

Mark stared bewildered. Had the priest’s 
mind been affected by the blow, and the subse- 
quent excitement? Father Murray sensed what 
was going on in Mark’s mind. 

Can’t you trust me, Mark? I know that 
the likeness is marvelous — ” 

^‘Likeness?” gasped Mark. But there was 
a whole world of hope in his voice. 

“ Yes, my friend — likeness. I — ” the priest 
hesitated — “I knew her well. It is not Ruth.” 


i 



God rest her,” Father Murray said after what 
seemed an age to Mark ; it is not Ruth . 



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- A fin; 



CHAPTER XV 

I AM NOT THE DUCHESS ! ” 

A long, low-built limousine kept passing and 
repassing the Ministry, and taking excursions 
to the parks, in an evident effort to kill time. 
At last, the street being well clear of pedes- 
trians and vehicles, the car drew up in front of 
the house, the door of which was quickly 
thrown open. The chauffeur descended and 
opened the door of the car, but said nothing. 
A man stepped out backward. 

^^We have arrived. Your Highness,” he said 
to someone within. “ Will you walk across the 
path to the door, or will you force us again to 
be disrespectful in carrying out our orders? ” 

From within a girl’s voice answered: 

“ You need not fear; I shall make no outcry.” 

The word of Your Highness is given. It 
would be painful for us to be disrespectful 
again. Come.” 

The girl who stepped out of the car was 
199 


200 


Charred Wood 


unmistakably Ruth Atheson. Behind her came 
a raw-boned, muscular woman, and a powerful- 
looking man. 

As she was hurried between the tall stone 
gateposts and up the cement walk, Ruth had but 
little time to observe her surroundings; but her 
eyes were quick, and she saw that the house 
she was about to enter was set some twenty feet 
back in quiet roomy grounds bordered by an 
ornamental stone wall. Distinguishing the house 
from its neighbors was a narrow veranda 
extending for some distance across the front, 
its slender columns rising to such a height 
that the flat roof, ledged with stone, formed a 
balcony easily accessible from the second floor. 
To one side, between the wall and the house, 
was a large tree whose foliage, loath to leave 
the swaying boughs, defied the autumn breeze. 

Before she had time to observe more, the 
party entered the Ministry; the door was closed 
quickly, and Ruth’s companions stood respect- 
fully aside. His Excellency was already com- 
ing down the steps, and met her at the foot 
of the stairs. Bowing low, he kissed the white 
hand before Ruth could prevent. 


'‘I Am Not the Duchess” 


201 


We are highly honored by the presence of 
Your Highness.” 

With another low bow he stood aside, and 
Ruth passed up the stairs. His Excellency 
conducted her into the room wherein the con- 
ference regarding her had been held only a 
few days before. 

“Your Highness — ” he began. 

But Ruth interrupted him. “ I do not under- 
stand your language.” 

The Minister rubbed his hands, smiled, and, 
still using the foreign language, said, “ I am 
surprised that Your Highness should have for- 
gotten your native tongue during such a short 
sojourn in America.” 

Ruth spoke somewhat haughtily. 

“ I think. Your Excellency, that I know who 
you are — and also why I am here. Permit me 
to tell you that you have made a serious blun- 
der. I am not the Grand Duchess Carlotta.” 

The Minister smiled again, and started to 
speak. But Ruth again interrupted him. 

“ Pardon me. Your Excellency, but if you 
insist upon talking to me, I must again request 
that you speak a language I can understand. 


202 


Charred Wood 


I have already told you that I do not under- 
stand what you say.” 

The Minister still kept his smile, and still 
rubbed his hands, but this time he spoke in 
English. 

“ It shall be as Your Highness wishes. It 
is your privilege to choose the language of con- 
versation. We will speak in English, although 
your own tongue would perhaps be better.” 

“ My own tongue,” said Ruth, “ is the lan- 
guage that I am using; and again I must 
inform Your Excellency that I am not the 
Grand Duchess. You have simply been guilty 
of abduction. You have taken the wrong 
person.” 

For answer the Minister went over to the 
mantel and picked up a portrait, which he 
extended toward the girl. 

I know,” said Ruth, I know. Many times 
in Europe I have been subjected to annoyance 
because of the resemblance. I know the Grand 
Duchess very well, but my name is Ruth 
Atheson.” 

The tolerant smile never left the face of the 
Minister. 


“I Am Not the Duchess’’ 


203 


Your Highness shall have it as you wish. 
I am satisfied with the resemblance. Since 
you left San Sebastian there has been scarcely 
a minute that you have not been under sur- 
veillance. It is true that you were lost for 
a little while in Boston, but not completely. 
We traced you to Sihasset. We traced him 
there also finally — unfortunately for the poor 
fellow.” 

Ruth started : “ You have not — ” 

The Minister looked sad. “Alas! High- 
ness,” he said, “ he is no more — an unfortu- 
nate accident. We do not even know where 
his body is. I fear he may have been drowned, 
or something worse. At any rate he will trouble 
you no more.” 

The face of the girl showed keen distress. 
“ Poor child I ” was all she could say. 

“ He was not. Highness, exactly a child, you 
know,” suggested the Minister. 

“ I was not referring to him!* 

The Minister’s smile returned. 

“ Then, Highness, perhaps you were refer- 
ring to the Grand Duchess.” 

I was referring to the Grand Duchess.” 


204 


Charred Wood 


All this time His Excellency never lost his 
air of respect, but now a somewhat more 
familiar tone crept into his voice. 

Highness,” he said, “ you will pardon me, 
I know, if I issue orders in your regard. All 
is being done by your father’s commands, given 
to me through His Majesty. You know as 
well as I do that your marriage to this Italian 
adventurer was impossible. You know that 
you are next in line of succession, but you 
do not know something else. You do not know 
that your father is even now dangerously ill. 
Your escapade has been hushed up to avoid 
scandal, for you may be sitting on the throne 
within a month. You must return to Ecknor, 
and you must return at once. The easiest way, 
and the best way, would be to notify the Wash- 
ington papers that you have arrived on a visit 
to America incognito, and that you are now a 
guest at the Ministry. Though it is already 
midnight, I have prepared such a statement. 
Here is it.” The Minister pointed to a num- 
ber of sealed envelopes on the desk. If you 
consent to be reasonable, I shall have these 
dispatched by messenger at once, and to-mor- 


‘‘I Am Not the Duchess’’ 


205 


row make arrangements for your entertainment. 
We shall send you to see some of the cities of 
the United States before you leave again for 
Europe. In this way your presence in America 
is explained. Nothing need ever be said about 
this unfortunate matter, and I can promise 
you that nothing will be said about it when 
you return home.” 

It was Ruth’s turn to smile. 

You are overlooking one thing, Excellency, 
and that the most important. I am not the 
Grand Duchess.” 

Of course. Highness. You have explained 
that before. It would not become me to con- 
tradict you, and yet you cannot blame me for 
carrying out my orders. If you do not agree 
to the plan I have suggested, I must put you 
under restraint. No one will be permitted to 
see you, and proper arrangements will be made 
to have you transferred secretly to one of our 
warships, w^hich will be making a cruise — for 
your especial benefit — to America in the course 
of a month. A month. Highness, is a long time 
to wait in restraint, but you must see that there 
is nothing else for me to do.” 


206 


Charred Wood 


Ruth was obliged to smile in spite of herself 
at the mixture of firmness and respect in the 
suave Minister’s tones. He was encouraged by 
the smile. 

Ah,” he said, I see that Your Highness 
will be reasonable.” 

Ruth looked him straight in the eye. 

But what if I should convince Your Excel- 
lency that you have made a mistake, that I am 
telling you the truth when I say I am not the 
Grand Duchess Carlotta?” 

The Minister bowed. It would be easy to 
convince me. Highness, if you could produce 
for me one who is more likely to be the Grand 
Duchess than yourself. But, alas! could there 
be two such faces in the world?” Admiration 
shone out of the little man’s eyes. 

There is no doubt. Excellency,” said Ruth, 
still smiling, that His Majesty was wise in 
appointing you a diplomat. We shall be good 
friends even though I have to stay. You are 
making a mistake, and I am afraid you will 
have to pay for it. I shall, however, be a 
model boarder, and possibly even enjoy my 
trip on the warship. But I certainly shall not 


'‘I Am Not the Duchess” 


207 


receive your friends at a reception, nor will I 
permit you to give me the honors due the 
Grand Duchess. Neither can I produce her. 
She is probably far away by this time. I will 
tell you my story, and you may judge for 
yourself.” 

His Excellency bowed profoundly. 

^^Your Highness is most gracious,” he said. 
“ Will you permit me to be seated? ” 

Certainly, Your Excellency.” 

The Minister drew up a chair and sat down, 
with a low bow, before his desk; but not before 
he had placed Ruth in a chair where the light 
would shine full on her face. He seemed now 
to be a changed man — almost a judge; and the 
fingers thrummed on the glass as they had done 
during the conference with Wratslav and Ivan. 

With a half-amused smile, Ruth began. 

“ Excellency, my name is Ruth Atheson. You 
may easily verify that by sending for my uncle. 
Monsignore Murray, of Sihasset, with whom 
I made my home until he went to college in 
Rome to study for the priesthood. I was left 
in Europe to receive my education. Afterward 
I came to America to be near my uncle, but 


208 


Charred Wood 


I made frequent trips to Europe to visit friends. 
It was during one of these visits that I first 
met the Grand Duchess Carlotta, four years 
ago, at San Sebastian. The remarkable like- 
ness between us caused me, as I have already 
told you, a great deal of annoyance. Her 
Highness heard of it and asked to meet me. 

“ We became close friends, so close that in 
her trouble she turned to me. I was with 
relatives in England at the time. She wrote 
asking me to receive her there, telling me that 
she intended to give up her claim to the throne 
and marry Luigi del Farno, whom she sincerely 
loved. I sent her a long letter warning her 
against the step — for I knew what it meant 
— and advising her that I was even then pre- 
paring to leave for America. Unfortunately, 
she knew my address and followed me to 
Sihasset, directing her lover to wait until she 
sent for him. 

I knew that the best means of concealing 
her would be to play upon the likeness between 
us, and never go out together. For extra pre- 
caution, when either of us went out, a veil was 
worn. She was taken for Ruth Atheson; and 


‘‘I Am Not the Duchess’" 


209 


Ruth Atheson, by your detectives, was taken 
for the Grand Duchess Carlotta. Indeed,” and 
here Ruth smiled, she was very much taken 
— in an auto, and as far as Washington. You 
propose now to take her still farther. The 
Grand Duchess would know, ten minutes after 
it happened, of my abduction, and she would 
guess who was responsible. So you may be 
certain that she is no longer at Sihasset. The 
picture you have. Your Excellency, is the pic- 
ture of the Grand Duchess, not of me. It 
happened that, as I was walking outside the 
gates of my home, your friends appeared. The 
mistake was quite natural.” 

The Minister had listened respectfully while 
Ruth spoke, but he was not convinced. 

‘‘ It would be discourteous in me. Highness,” 
he said, to doubt your word. But it would be 
worse than discourteous were I to accept it. I 
am sorry; but you must offer me more than 
statements. My men could scarcely have been 
deceived. They followed you each time you 
came out. Two people do not look so much 
alike — especially outside of families — ” 

His Excellency’s eyes opened as he flashed 


210 


Charred Wood 


a keen look at Ruth. The name “ Atheson 
had suddenly commenced to bother him. What 
was it he should have remembered — and 
couldn’t? The intentness of his gaze discom 
certed Ruth. The Minister changed it to look 
down at his thrumming fingers, and continued 
in his suavest tones, following that scarcely per- 
ceptible pause. 

— as to deceive men trained in the art of 
spying. I can only repeat what I have already 
said: there are two courses open, and it is for 
you to determine which you prefer.” 

You may be sure, then. Your Excellency,” 
said Ruth, that I shall not select the course 
that would put me in a false light before all 
the world. I am not the Grand Duchess Car- 
lotta, and I must refuse to be taken for her. 
My uncle will not be long in deciding who is 
responsible for my abduction, and I can assure 
you that you will have explanations to make 
before your warship arrives.” 

The Minister arose promptly as Ruth stood 
up, her hand resting lightly on the desk. 

“ I am tired. Your Excellency,” she con- 
tinued, and — since you insist on my being 


‘‘I Am Not the Duchess” 


211 


the guest of your government — I 'will ask to 
be conducted to my apartments.” 

The Minister bowed. “ If Your Highness 
will permit.” He touched a bell. The raw- 
boned woman was in the room so quickly that 
Ruth wondered if she had been all the time 
just outside the door. At a signal from His 
Excellency, the woman picked up Ruth’s wrap 
and gloves. His Excellency meanwhile, with 
a low bow, had opened the door. Ruth passed 
into the broad corridor and, accompanied by 
the Minister, proceeded to a handsome suite 
of rooms. 

The Minister turned to Ruth. “ I am sorry. 
Your Highness, but I have strict instructions 
in the event of your refusal to comply with my 
suggestion, that you are to remain in strict 
seclusion. I cannot permit you to see or speak 
to anyone outside, so I hope you will not 
embarrass me by making any such request.” 
He pointed toward the windows. You will 
notice. Highness, that there is a balcony in 
front of your apartments. In the next room, 
which also opens upon the balcony, is a guard. 
There will be a guard also at your door and 


212 


Charred Wood 


another on the lawn below. Your windows will 
be under constant surveillance, though you will 
never see the guards unless you venture forth. 
Your guards will be changed constantly, and 
it will be — ’’ the minister’s pause was signifi- 
cant, the tone of his voice even more so 
— unwise — to attempt to gain their friend- 
ship. They might find it — disastrous.” Again 
the smooth significance of the voice. He 
paused for a moment, then spoke more lightly. 

If Your Highness will permit. Madam, 
my wife, will call on you and be at your dis- 
posal at any time, as also my daughters. Since 
you have no maid with you, Madame Helda,” 
His Excellency called the raw-boned woman 
from the next room as he spoke, will wait 
upon you. Everything to make your stay pleas- 
ant and comfortable has been arranged. But 
you are an important personage and if we are 
firm, Your Highness, it is not because we wish 
to be, but only because of duty to your country, 
and to yourself. If you decide, at any time, 
that you should like to see America, you have 
only to summon me. Your Highness will 
permit me to retire?” 


213 


“I Am Not the Duchess” 

Certainly, Your Excellency, and thank 
you.” 

With a profound bow His Excellency left 
the room. Ruth examined her apartments with 
a pleased smile of gratification — for they 
looked anything but a prison. The Minister 
knew how to make rooms pleasant. 

The diplomat went slowly downstairs. He 
had lost his smile, and his face was contracted 
with worry. The girl’s story had impressed 
him more than he had cared to own, and there 
was much of the human in him, in spite of 
the diplomat’s veneer. Then the name Ath- 
eson ” sounded insistently in his ears and, 
momentarily, he felt that he was almost grasp- 
ing the clue as he strove to remember. 

As he entered the library, his secretary stood 
up, a yellow paper in his hands. 

“ I have been waiting to hand this to you 
personally. Excellency.” 

The Minister took the paper. It was a cable- 
gram translated from code, which read: 

The Duke is dead. If Her High- 
ness has arrived do everything possible 
to bring her to understand that there 


214 


Charred Wood 


must be no scandal. Be absolutely 
firm and have her return at any risk 
without delay. The Caspian has been 
dispatched from the coast of France 
and should arrive in ten days. We 
have given out that the Duchess is 
traveling incognito, but has been noti- 
fied to return.” 

The worry on the Minister’s face deepened. 

This complicates matters, Wratslav,” he 
said, “ and makes it more imperative that Her 
Highness be kept most strictly secluded. Go 
to bed now. We shall have enough to keep 
us awake for the next ten days.” 

Wratslav left, but the Minister sat down at 
his desk. Morning found him there asleep. 


I 


CHAPTER XVI 


HIS EXCELLENCY IS WORRIED 

At eleven o’clock, His Excellency the Min- 
ister was handed a card which read : 

^'Right Rev. Donald Murray, D. D.” 

Touching a bell. His Excellency summoned 
Wratslav. 

“ There is a clergyman,” he said, “ who calls 
on me. I do not know him, and of course I 
cannot guess his business. Perhaps you will 
see him.” 

The secretary bowed and went out. As he 
entered the reception room. Father Murray 
arose. Before the priest could speak, the sec- 
retary began : 

“ You desire to see His Excellency? ” 

Father Murray bowed. 

“ I am sorry, but His Excellency is very 
much engaged. He has requested me to ascer- 
tain the nature of your business.” 

“ I regret that I may not tell you the nature 
215 


216 


Charred Wood 


of my business.” Father Murray’s reply was 
instant. “ I may speak only to the Minister 
himself.” 

“ Then,” answered the secretary, I regret 
to say that he cannot receive you. A diplomat’s 
time is not his own. I am in his confidence. 
Could you not give me some inkling as to 
what you desire? ” 

“ Since I cannot see him without giving you 
the information, you might say to His Excel- 
lency that I have come to speak to him in 
reference to Miss Ruth Atheson — ” Father 
Murray paused, then added coolly: “ He will 
understand.” 

The secretary bowed courteously. “ I will 
deliver your message at once,” he said. 

In exactly one minute the Minister himself 
was bowing to Father Murray. 

“ I beg your pardon for detaining you. Rev- 
erend Sir, but, as my secretary explained, I 
am extremely busy. You mentioned Miss 
Atheson and, at least so I understand from my 
secretary, seemed to think I would know of 
her. In deference to your cloth, I thought I 
would see you personally, though I do not 


His Excellency Is Worried 217 

recall knowing anyone by that name. Perhaps 
she wishes a vise for a passport?” 

“That might explain it,” answered Father 
Murray; “but I think she desires a passport 
without the vise. I have reason to believe that 
Your Excellency knows something of her — 
rather — unexpected departure from her home 
in Sihasset. In fact, my information on that 
point is quite clear. I am informed that she 
was mistaken for another, a visitor in her home. 
Possibly she is here now. The passport desired 
is your permission for her to return to her 
friends.” 

The Minister’s face expressed blankness. 

“ You have been misinformed,” he answered. 
“ I know nothing of Miss Atheson. Would you 
kindly give me some of the facts? That is, if 
you think it necessary to do so. It is possible 
I might be able to be of service to you ; if so, 
do not hesitate to command me.” 

“ The facts are very easily stated,” said the 
priest. “ First, the young lady is my niece.” 

It was the Minister’s boast — privately, 
understand — that he could always tell when a 
man believed himseif to be telling the truth, 


218 


Charred Wood 


and now — past master in the art of diplo- 
macy though he was — he found it hard to con- 
ceal his shocked surprise at this confirmation 
of the girl’s story. 

You say she left her home unexpectedly? ” 
She was seized by two men and hurried to 
a waiting auto, Your Excellency.” 

“ And this happened where? ” 

At Sihasset. Your Excellency passed 
through there quite recently, and will probably 
remember it.” 

The half-closed eyes almost smiled. 

“ Had your niece lived there long? ” 

“ Only a few months. She arrived less than 
a week before her visitor.” 

Outwardly the Minister was calm, unmoved; 
but underneath the cold exterior the lurking 
fear was growing stronger. He must know 
more — all. 

Before that — ? ” 

“ She came direct from England, where she 
was visiting relatives.” 

“ She was educated there perhaps? ” 

She received her education principally in 
Europe.” 


His Excellency Is Worried 219 

She has traveled much, then? ” 

“ She has spent most of her time in Amer- 
ica since I came here ; but she has many friends 
both in England and on the Continent, and 
visits them quite frequently. She has very 
special friends in San Sebastian.” 

^^Ahl” 

“ Perhaps Your Excellency knows something 
about it now? ” 

Nothing, I assure you. But I find your 
story very interesting, and regret that I can 
see no way of assisting you.” 

Father Murray perfectly understood the kind 
of man he was dealing with. He must speak 
more plainly, suggesting in some degree the 
extent of his knowledge. 

I see. Your Excellency, that it will be nec- 
essary for me to mention another name, or 
rather to mention a title. There are, in your 
Great Kingdom, dependent duchies, and there- 
fore people called grand dukes, and others 
called grand duchesses. Does that help Your 
Excellency to understand?” 

The Minister still had control of himself, 
though he was greatly worried. 


220 


Charred Wood 


It does not, Reverend Sir,” he answered, 
unless you might possibly be able to intro- 
duce me to a grand duchess in America. I 
am always interested in my countrymen — and 
women. If a grand duchess were brought 
here — that is,” he corrected himself, smiling 
courteously, “ if a grand duchess should call 
to see me, I should be glad to place my entire 
staff at your service to find the Ruth Atheson 
you speak of. Perhaps your Reverence under- 
stands? ” 

“Thoroughly,” said Father Murray. “I 
could not fail to understand. But it would be 
difficult for me to bring a grand duchess to 
call on you, since the only one I have ever 
known is, unfortunately, dead.” 

At last the Minister lost his sang froid. His 
face was colorless. 

“ Perhaps you will tell me the name of this 
grand duchess whom you knew? ” 

“ I think Your Excellency already knows.” 

“ How did she die, and when? ” 

“ I am sorry to say that she was killed in 
an accident.” 

“ Where?” 


His Excellency Is Worried 221 

“ If Your Excellency will pick up this morn- 
ing’s paper — which you possibly have neg- 
lected to read — you will see a list of those 
killed in a railroad wreck which took place 
the night before last on a Washington-bound 
train. The list includes “ two women, un- 
known ” and the pictures of both are printed. 
Their bodies are now in the morgue in Balti- 
more awaiting identification.” 

The Minister turned hastily to a table on 
which a number of newspapers had been care- 
lessly laid. He picked up a Washington pub- 
lication. On the front page was a picture of 
two women lying side by side — taken at the 
morgue in Baltimore. Despite the rigor of 
death on the features, the Minister could per- 
ceive in the face of the younger woman an 
unmistakable resemblance to the girl upstairs. 
Greatly agitated, he turned to the priest. 

How do I know,” he asked, “ that this — ” 
pointing to the picture — is not Ruth Ath- 
eson? ” 

I think,” said the priest, that you will 
have to take my word for it — unless Your 
Excellency will verify my statement by an 


222 Charred Wood 

actual visit to the morgue. The body is still 
unburied.” 

“ I shall send to the morgue.” 

Then for the present I will bid Your Excel- 
lency good morning. Before going, however, I 
should like to emphasize that the lady now in 
your custody is my niece. And Baron Griffin, 
of the Irish peerage, is taking an active personal 
interest in the matter. Baron Griffin is now 
in Washington and requests me to state that he 
will give you until to-morrow morning to 
restore the lady to her friends. That will 
afford ample time for a visit to Baltimore. 
Unless Miss Atheson is with us by ten o’clock 
to-morrow morning the whole affair will be 
placed in the hands of the British Ambassador 
and of our own State Department — with all 
the details. I might add that I am stopping 
at the New Willard Hotel.” 

The priest looked at His Excellency, who 
again felt the insistent hammering of that 

something ” he should have remembered. The 
phrase, “ all the details,” bore an almost sinister 
significance. 

His Excellency gave a sudden start. “ Ath- 


His Excellency Is Worried 223 

eson — Atheson.” His voice was tense and he 
spoke slowly. “ What was her father’s name? ” 

It was what the priest had been waiting for, 
had expected all along. Forgotten for years 
— yes. But where was the diplomat who did 
not have the information somewhere in his 
files? His face saddened as he answered. 

“ Edgar Atheson.” 

Etkar — ” 

But the priest raised his hand. 

Edgar Atheson — if you please/* 

The Minister bowed. “ And you are the 
brother of — ” 

“ Alice Murray,” the priest interrupted 
quietly, with a touch of dignified hauteur. 

His Excellency was silent, and his visitor 
continued. 

“ I must also suggest to Your Excellency that 
the fate of the young Italian officer is known 
to others beside myself. It would make unfor- 
tunate state complications if the occurrence 
should be made public. I wish Your Excel- 
lency good morning.” 

He turned to go, but the Minister stood 
between him and the door. 


224 


Charred Wood 


One moment,” he said. “ I regret that it 
is necessary to request your Reverence to 
remain. You will pardon the necessity, I am 
sure. I cannot permit His Majesty’s secrets 
to be made known to the public. State compli- 
cations often oblige us to take stern measures, 
and — ” he continued coldly — ‘‘ you are now 
on the territory of my royal master.” 

But Father Murray did not seem at all 
afraid. 

Do not think of detaining me. Your Excel- 
lency,” he said quietly. “ I mentioned Baron 
Griffin. There is another. Both know where 
I am. Nor need you worry as to our discretion. 
We are well enough acquainted with state com- 
plications to know when silence is best. We 
shall not speak unless it becomes necessary; 
but in that event we shall not hesitate. Don’t 
make matters more difficult for yourself. I 
shall insist on the release of my niece, and I 
warn you that neither you nor His Majesty 
may touch either of us and go unscathed. 
Kindly stand aside.” 

But His Excellency still barred the way. 

Your Reverence,” he said, after a pause. 


His Excellency Is Worried 225 

I shall stand aside on one condition: that you 
will again give me your word that you will 
keep silence. To-morrow morning you shall 
have your answer; but in the meantime not 
one syllable about this must pass your lips, 
and Baron Griffin must not approach the Brit- 
ish Embassy on this matter. There may be no 
need of his doing so at all. Please understand 
my position. I must guard His Majesty’s 
interests, and do my best under difficult circum- 
stances. Whether the lady be the Duchess or 
your niece, no harm shall come to her. Have 
I your word? ” 

^‘You have my word. Unless Your Excel- 
lency makes it necessary to act, we shall keep 
silence.” 

“ Then,” said the Minister, stepping aside, “ I 
will bid you good morning.” 

Father Murray bowed himself out. He met 
Mark and Saunders at the corner. As they 
walked away, they saw nothing of the spy upon 
their footsteps; but they knew that the spy was 
there, for they had knowledge of the ways of 
diplomacy. As a matter of fact, inside of 
twenty minutes the Minister knew what room 


226 


Charred Wood 


each man was occupying at the New Willard. 
An attache did not leave the hotel all night; 
and the next morning the same man found him- 
self in the unusual surroundings of St. Patrick’s 
Church where Father Murray said Mass. 

When the Minister returned to the library 
his face was white. Wratslav was in his con- 
fidence, and did not have to wait long for 
information. For the first time in his diplo- 
matic career of thirty years His Excellency 
was nonplussed. 

“ If she is dead, Wratslav,” he said, “ what 
will be said of us, and what new trouble will 
arrive? Who is next in line of succession? ” 

“The Duchy,” said Wratslav, “will pass to 
the Grand Duke’s brother.” 

“ Not so bad, not so bad. The King would 
like that. I think, then, that the brother is 
the only one who will benefit by this unfortu- 
nate complication. The Salic law should be 
enforced throughout the whole world. When 
we have to deal with women, only the good 
God knows what’s going to happen. I am 
afraid the girl above told the truth.” 

“ But,” objected Wratslav, “even if she did. 


His Excellency Is Worried 227 

Excellency, you cannot take the risk of letting 
her go without orders from His Majesty. The 
Grand Duchess was always clever. She knew 
she was tracked down. It would be easy for 
her to pretend that she did not know her native 
language. You cannot let her go until you are 
sure.” 

The Minister passed his hand wearily across 
his forehead and sighed. 

At any rate we can verify some of the 
details. You must go to Baltimore, Wratslav, 
and view the bodies. Arrange for the embalm- 
ing. Say that the two are ladies of our country. 
Give any names you wish. Place both bodies 
in a vault until this thing is cleared up; and 
bring me half a dozen pictures of the young 
one, taken close to the face on every side. Note 
the hair, the clothes, any jewels she may have 
about her; but, above all, find out if there are 
any papers to be found. See also if there are 
identifying marks. Return to-night; for by 
to-morrow morning I must be ready to decide. 
I shall send no dispatches until then.” 

His Excellency turned to his papers, and 
Wratslav left the room. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE OPEN DOOR 

That night, Mark Grifiin and Father Mur- 
ray sat in the priest’s room at the New Willard 
until very late. Father Murray was by far the 
more cheerful of the two, in spite of the strain 
upon him. Mark looked broken. He had 
come into a full knowledge of the fact that 
Ruth had not been false to him, and that no 
barrier existed to their union, but he could not 
close his eyes to the danger of the girl’s situ- 
ation. Father Murray, however, could see no 
dark clouds. 

My dear Mark,” he said, you don’t under- 
stand the kind of a country you are in. Affairs 
of state here do not justify murder, and an 
elected public official cannot, even in the name 
diplomacy, connive at it. It is true that a Min- 
ister cannot very well be arrested, but a Min- 
ister can be disgraced, which is worse to his 
mind. You may be sure that our knowledge of 
228 


229 


The Open Door 

the murder of the Italian will be quite sufBcient 
to keep His Excellency in a painful state of 
suspense, and ultimately force him to yield.’’ 

I could wish him,” said Mark, a more 
painful state of suspense/^ 

Father Murray smiled at the grim jest. He 
will never see the rope, Mark, you may be sure 
of that. But there will be no more murdering. 
The situation of the Ministry is bad enough 
as it is. His Excellency looked very much 
perturbed — for a diplomat — before I was 
done with him. There is nothing more cer- 
tain than that he has had a messenger in Balti- 
more to-day, and, unless I mistake very much, 
he will be able to identify the body. Then 
they must free Ruth.” 

I wish. Father,” Mark’s voice was very 
tense, “ that I could look at things as you do. 
But I know how a court works, and how serious 
are the games of kings. Then I haven’t 
religion to help me, as you have.” 

I question a little,” replied Father Mur- 
ray, “ if that last statement is true — that you 
have no religion. You know, Mark, I am 
beginning to think you have a great deal of 


230 


Charred Wood 


religion. I wish that some who think that they 
have very much could learn how to make what 
is really their very little count as far as you 
have made yours count. It dawned upon me 
to-night that there is a good reason why the 
most religious people never make the best dip- 
lomats. Now, you would have been a failure 
in that career.” 

“ I think, Father Murray, that your good 
opinion of me is at least partly due to the fact 
that I may yet be your nephew. Ruth is like 
a daughter to you; and so I gain in your esteem 
because of her.” 

Yes,” answered the priest thoughtfully, 
“ Ruth is like a daughter to me. And it is a 
strange feeling for a priest to have — that he 
has someone looking up to him and loving him 
in that way. Though a priest is constituted the 
same as other men, long training and expe- 
rience have made his life and mental attitude 
different from those of men of more worldly 
aspirations. A priest is bound to his work 
more closely than is any other person in the 
world. Duty is almost an instinct with him. 
That is why he seldom shines in any other line, 


231 


The Open Door 

no matter how talented he may be. Cardinal 
Richelieu and Cardinal Mazarin almost had to 
unfrock themselves in order to become states- 
men. Cardinal Wolsey left a heritage that at 
best is of doubtful value — not because he was 
a priest as well as a lord chancellor, but because 
as lord chancellor he so often forgot that he 
was a priest. There are many great priest- 
authors, but few of them are among the great- 
est. A priest in politics does not usually hold 
his head, because politics isn’t his place. There 
are priest-inventors; but somehow we forget 
the priest in the inventor, and feel that the 
latter title makes him a little less worthy of 
the former — rather illogical, is it not? The 
Abbot Mendel was a scientist, but it is only 
now that he is coming into his own; and how 
many know him only as Mendel, forgetting his 
priestly office? Liszt was a cleric, but few 
called him Abbe. A priest as a priest can be 
nothing else. In fact, it is almost inevitable 
that his greatness in anything else will detract 
from his priesthood. Now the Church, my dear 
Mark, has the wisdom of ages behind her. She 
never judges from the exceptions, but always 


232 


Charred Wood 


from the rule. She gets better service from a 
man who has sunk his temporal interests in the 
spiritual. She is the sternest mistress the ages 
have produced; she wants whole-hearted service 
or none at all. I like thinking of Ruth as my 
daughter; but I am not averse, for the good of 
my ministry, to having someone else take the 
responsibility from off my shoulders.” 

“ But,” said Mark, “ how could a wife and 
children interfere with a priest’s duties to his 
flock?” 

The church does not let them interfere,” 
answered Father Murray. “ She holds a man 
to his sworn obligations taken in marriage. A 
husband must ^ cleave to his wife.’ How could 
a priestly husband do that and yet fulfil! his 
vow to be faithful to his priesthood until death? 
His wife would come first. What of his priest- 
hood? Besides, a father has for his children a 
love that would tend to nullify, only too often, 
the priest’s obligations toward the children of 
his flock. A man who offers a supreme sacri- 
fice, and is eternally willing to live it, must 
be supremely free. In theory, all clergymen 
must be prepared to sacrifice themselves for 


233 


The Open Door 

their people, for ^ the Good Shepherd gives up 
his life for his sheep.’ In practice, no one 
expects that except of the priest; but from him 
everyone expects it.” 

Do you really think,” asked Mark, that 
those outside the Church expect such a sac- 
rifice?” 

Father Murray did not hesitate about his 
answer. 

“ Expect it? They demand it. Why, my 
dear Mark, even as a Presbyterian minister I 
expected it of the men I almost hated. I never 
liked priests then. Instinctively I classed them 
as my enemies, even as my personal enemies. 
Deep down in my heart I knew that, with the 
Catholic Church eliminated from Christianity, 
the whole fabric tottered and fell, and Christ 
was stamped with the mark of an impostor 
and a failure — His life. His wonders, and His 
death, shams. Instinctively I knew, too, that 
without the Catholic Church the Christian 
world would fall to the level of Rome at its 
worst, and that every enemy of Christ turned 
his face against her priests. I knew that every 
real atheist, every licentious man, most revo- 


234 


Charred Wood 


lutionists, every anarchist, hated a priest. It 
annoyed me to think that they didn’t hate me, 
the representative, as I thought, of a purer 
religion. But they did not hate me at all. 
They ignored the sacredness of my calling, and 
classed me with themselves because of what they 
thought was the common bond of enmity to 
the priest. I resented that, for, while I was 
against their enemy, I certainly was not with 
them. The anomaly of my position increased 
my bitterness toward priests until I came almost 
to welcome a scandal among them, even though 
I knew that every scandal reacted on my own 
kind. But each rare scandal served to throw 
into clearer relief the high honor and stern 
purity of the great mass of those men who had 
forsaken all to follow Christ. And my vague 
feeling of satisfaction was tempered by an insist- 
ent sense of my own injustice which would 
not be denied, for I knew that I was demand- 
ing of the Catholic priest greater things than 
I demanded of any other men. Even while I 
judged — and, judging, condemned — I knew 
that I was measuring him by his own magnifi- 
cent standard, the very seeking of which made 


235 


The Open Door 

him worthy of honor. To have sought the 
highest goal and failed is better than never to 
have sought at all. So long as life lasts, no 
failure is forever; it is always possible to arise 
and return to the path. And a fall should call 
forth the charity of the beholder, leading him 
closer to God. But there is no charity for the 
Catholic priest who stumbles — no return save 
in spaces hidden from the world. The most 
arrant criminals, the most dangerous atheists, 
the most sincere Protestants, demand of the 
priest not only literal obedience to his vows, but 
a sublime observance of their spirit. Why, 
Mark, you demand it yourself — you know you 
do.” 

For a moment Mark did not answer. 

Yes,” he said, after a pause, I do demand 
it. I only wondered if others felt as I do. 
This job of trying to analyze one’s own emo- 
tions and thoughts is a difficult one. I have 
been trying to do it for years. Frankly, there 
are things I cannot grasp. Let me put one of 
them before you now.” 

Go on,” said Father Murray. “ I am 
glad the conversation is off the worry.” 


236 


Charred Wood 


“You remember, Father,” said Mark, “the 
day I met you in your study that eventful Sun- 
day in London? ” 

The priest nodded. 

“ I had decided then to go out of the church, 
as I told you, to get away from my faith. I 
thought that I had come to that decision with a 
clear conscience, but I know now that I had 
merely built up a false one and that that was 
why I sought you out — not to give up, but to 
defy you, and defy my own heart at the sama 
time. I thought that if I could justify myself 
before such a man as you it would set things 
at rest within me for the remainder of my 
days. I did not justify myself. Ever since that 
day I have been attracted by the open doors of 
Catholic churches. I never pass one without 
seeing that open door. The minute I seriously 
think of religion the picture of an open church 
door is in front of me; it has become almost an 
obsession. I seem to see a hand beckoning 
from that door; some day I shall see more than 
the hand — my mother’s face will be behind 
it. I can’t get away from it — and I can’t 
understand why.” 


237 


The Open Door 

Father Murray’s eyes were serious. 

“ Why, my dear Mark,” he answered, ‘‘ you 
ought to know that you can’t get away. Do 
you suppose anybody ever got away from 
God? Do you suppose any man ever could 
close his eyes to the fact of His existence? 
Then how is it possible for you to get away 
from that which first told you of God, and 
which so long represented to you all that you 
knew about Him? There is in the Catholic 
faith a strange something which makes those 
who have not belonged to it vaguely uneasy, 
but which makes those who have once had it 
always unsatisfied without it. There is an 
influence akin to that of the magnetic pole, 
only it draws everything. It intrudes itself 
upon every life. There seems to be no middle 
course between loving it and hating it; but, 
once known, it cannot be ignored. It has had 
its chain around you, Mark, and you are only 
now realizing that you can’t cast it off.” 

Mark Griffin was silent. For some minutes 
not a word was exchanged between the two 
men. Then Mark arose and, without looking 
at his friend, said good night and left the room. 


238 


Charred Wood 


A minute later he returned. 

Father,” he said, you are very hopeful 
about Ruth. I am trying to share your hope. 
If everything comes out right and she is not 
lost to me, will you — heretic or unfaithful son 
though I may still be, whichever you are 
pleased to call me — will you still be a friend 
and, should she accept me, join our hands? ” 
Father Murray walked over and put his 
hand on Mark’s shoulders. 

I am afraid, Mark, that it is again the 
Faith instinct. Of course I will marry you — 
that I expected to do. I could not be a mere 
onlooker to give her away. When you get her, 
Mark, you will get her from me, not only with 
an uncle’s blessing, but with another as strong 
as Mother Church can make it and as binding 
as eternity.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 

SAUNDERS SCORES 

It lacked but five minutes to the hour of 
ten next morning when the card of the Min- 
ister’s secretary was handed to Father Murray. 
The priest sent down a polite request for the 
visitor to come to his room, and at once tel- 
ephoned for Mark. Both men arrived at the 
same moment and were introduced at the door. 
Father Murray, at Saunders’ own request, kept 
the detective in the background. Saunders had, 
in the meantime, been learning all he could 
about the Ministry and its interior — “for 
emergencies,” he explained to Mark. 

The secretary proceeded to business without 
delay. 

“ I have come on behalf of His Excellency,” 
he said, “ and to express his regrets.” 

“ I scarcely expected regrets,” answered the 
priest; “for at ten o’clock I was to have a 
definite answer.” 


239 


240 


Charred Wood 


It is impossible, Reverend Sir, to give you 
that. His Excellency bade me offer dull assur- 
ance that a definite answer will not long be 
delayed; but a somewhat unforeseen situation 
was found in Baltimore — a situation that was 
unforeseen by you, though rather expected by 
His Excellency.” 

“ I cannot imagine,” Father Murray spoke 
rather tartly, what that situation could be.” 

“ Let me explain then.” The secretary talked 
as one sure of his ground. I take it that 
neither Baron Griffin nor yourself. Reverend 
Sir, would be at all interested in the movements 
of the Grand Duchess?” 

Not particularly,” answered the priest. 

Then I am sorry to say that the dead girl 
in Baltimore is surely your niece. The 
other — ” 

At the Ministry — ” Mark put in. 

Wherever she is,” parried the secretary. 

The other is the Grand Duchess.” 

Perhaps, Mr. Secretary,” quietly suggested 
Father Murray, you will admit that I ought 
to know my own niece?” 

There is a great resemblance, Reverend Sir, 


Saunders Scores 241 

between the two ladies. I have seen the dead 
girl, and have examined her belongings. Her 
apparel was made, it is true, in Paris; but your 
niece has recently been there. Her bag bears 
the initials, R. A.” The mesh bag is plainly 
marked in gold cut initials with the same let- 
ters. The dressing case is also marked “ R. A.” 
Even the handkerchiefs are thus marked.” 

“ As she was a guest of my niece, and of 
course left Killimaga very hurriedly after the 
abduction,” said Father Murray, it is quite 
probable that the Grand Duchess took the first 
clothes and other effects that came to hand. 
She may even have purposely used things 
belonging to Miss ' Atheson in. order not to 
have anything in her possession that might 
betray her identity.” 

^^True, that is possible,” the secretary ad- 
mitted; but it is not probable enough to 
satisfy His Excellency. Without a doubt, he 
ought to satisfy himself. In the meantime, 
while the doubt remains, it is clear that your 
answer cannot be given.” 

“ Suppose we place this matter, then,” said 
the priest, “ where the answer will come in 


242 


Charred Wood 


response to a demand? There is still the British 
Embassy and the Department of State.” 

It will be plain to you, Reverend Sir,” said 
the secretary, that such a course would not 
be of assistance. Frankly, we do not want 
publicity; but, certainly, neither does your 
Department of State. In fact, I think that 
this affair might offer considerable embarrass- 
ment to the President himself at this time. 
And you? Would you wish the reporters to 
hear of it and have it published v/ith all pos- 
sible embellishments and sent broadcast? A 
few days will not be long in passing. I can 
vouch for the fact that the lady is quite com- 
fortable. Why not see it from His Excellency’s 
point of view?” 

“Just what is that point of view?” 

“ I will be frank. You gentlemen know the 
situation. His Excellency’s entire career is at 
stake. If this lady is the Grand Duchess and 
she does not go back to her throne — ” 

“Her throne?” Mark broke out in aston- 
ishment. 

“ Her father is dead. She is the reigning 
Grand Duchess, though she does not know it 


Saunders Scores 243 

yet. You see the situation? His Excellency 
must be sure.” 

But how does he mean to arrive at cer- 
tainty?” asked Father Murray. 

That will be our task.” 

‘‘And in the meantime?” 

“ She is safe.” 

“ And if we seek the Department of State? ” 

“ It will be the word of the minister from 
a friendly power against yours — and they will 
not find the lady.” 

“You would not — ” 

“ They will not find the lady.” 

“ Then,” Mark spoke fiercely. “ You have 
not kept your word.” 

“ We have. She is safe, and shall be safe. 
Patience, if you please, and all will be well.” 

“ It looks,” said Father Murray, “ as though 
we had no other choice.” 

Mark glanced at the priest, astonished that 
he should acquiesce so easily, but Father Mur- 
ray gave him a quick, meaning look. 

“ That, Reverend Sir,” answered the secre- 
tary, “ is true. Since you see it so, I will bid 
you good day — to meet you again, shortly.” 


244 


Charred Wood 


Scarcely had the secretary left the room when 
Father Murray was at the telephone calling 
Saunders. 

“ Come down,” he directed, at once.” 

Saunders was with them before either Mark 
or the priest spoke again. 

‘‘Well?” Saunders lost no time. 

Father Murray gave him an outline of what 
had passed. Mark said nothing. A picture of 
despair, he was sitting with his head bowed 
upon his breast. 

“And now, Mr. Saunders,” said Father 
Murray, “ it is your business to counsel — to 
be a real detective. What do you suggest?” 

“ She is at the Ministry,” said Saunders. 
“ Let that be my first statement. She is occupy- 
ing a room which opens on a balcony of the 
second floor. There is a guard in the next 
room, which also opens on the same balcony. 
She is well watched. But I was in front of 
that house three hours last night, and again 
this morning — rather, I was in the house 
across the way. I had a good chance to com- 
municate the news of your arrival to her — ” 

“What!” Mark was on his feet now. 


Saunders Scores 


245 


It was simple. I did it this morning with 
a hand mirror. You remember how bright the 
sun was about nine o’clock? Well, it was 
shining right into the room where I was, and 
when I saw that she was probably alone I 
caught the light on my little mirror and flashed 
the reflection into her room. I juggled it about 
as oddly as I could, flashing it across the book 
she was reading. Then I tried to make it write 
a word on her wall. Perhaps you would like 
to know the word, Baron?” He turned to 
Mark with a smile. “You would? Well, I 
tried to write ‘ M-A-R-K.’ I think she under- 
stood, for she turned toward the window and 
seemed about to give me some signal. Then 
she raised her hand in a quick motion of 
alarm and began reading again. I withdrew 
the light, just in time, for some woman entered 
the room.” 

“ I am afraid, Mr. Saunders,” said Father 
Murray, “ that you are dangerous, being a very 
clever man.” 

“ But how, in Heaven’s name,” asked Mark, 
“ did you get into that house? It is the home 
of — ” 


246 


Charred Wood 


“ Sure it is,” answered Saunders. “ Sure it 
is. But the family is away, and they left only 
the chauffeur at the residence. Chauffeurs are 
fine fellows — under certain circumstances. 
They have acquired the habit.” 

“ The conditions,” laughed Mark, “ will, I 
suppose, appear in your accounts?” 

“ In my accounts? Yes . . . Now to the 
rest of the discussion. I do not believe this 
affair can be arranged as easily as you think. 
It looks to me as if they really believe they 
have the Grand Duchess, and that we are trying 
to help her get away. They think she has 
planned the whole thing and that we are part 
of the plan. Miss Ruth was with Madam 
Neuville when they caught her. That’s one 
point in their favor. Then the Duchess had 
things belonging to Miss Ruth, and had them 
when killed. That’s point two for them. The 
face of Miss Ruth is the face on the portraits 
of the Grand Duchess. There’s point three for 
them; and it is a fact that the face of the 
dead girl was slightly disfigured, as you know. 
The Minister dare not make a slip. He is not 
going to make one if he can help it. He will 


Saunders Scores 


247 


do. something without delay to avoid all danger 
of your interference. If you go to court, you’ll 
have publicity. If you go to the Department 
of State, their delays would make interference 
too late. If you don’t act quick you’ll have no 
chance to act at all. My advice is, to get into 
better communication with the young lady and 
then — to do a bit of quiet abduction ourselves.” 
That’s easy to say, Saunders,” said Mark. 

But how carry it out? ” 

I’ll have to think on that. But I’m sure 
it can be done.” Saunders spoke convincingly. 
“ Let me work this thing out as best I can.” 

“We are in your hands, Mr. Saunders,” said 
Father Murray, “ and we trust you.” 

“Thanks, Father, I’ll do my best. Now let 
us go on — ” 

But at this moment the telephone bell rang. 
Father Murray answered the call. 

“ It’s for you, Mark.” 

Mark took the receiver, and listened for a 
moment. 

“All right; send him up.” 

He turned to his companions. “ A colored 
man who insists on seeing me personally.” 


248 


Charred Wood 


They had but a few minutes to wait. He 
came up with a bellboy and stood before them, 
bowing low — a typical Southern darkey, his 
hair whitened by age. 

“Well, uncle, what can I do for you?” It 
was Mark who spoke. 

“ Well, sah, seein’ as how I found a lettah 
addressed to you — ” 

“A letter?” 

“ Yes, sah.” The old darkey was fumbling 
with his hat, trying to withdraw the letter he 
had put away so carefully. 

“ I found it down the street, sah, neah one of 
them thar big for’n houses.” 

“Where?” The word was almost shouted 
as Mark jumped to his feet. 

But the trembling fingers had at last grasped 
and now held forth the precious letter. Mark 
tore it open, and with a cry of glad surprise 
began to devour its contents. When he had 
finished, he handed the letter to Father Mur- 
ray without a word, and turned to the darkey. 

“ Thank you, uncle. I am very glad you 
brought it.” 

“ Yes, sah. I thought as how you might 


Saunders Scores 


249 


want to get it, seein’ as how it was a pretty 
young lady that threw it out.” 

“You saw her?” 

“ Yes, sah. I was right across the street, 
and she suah is pretty, sah.” The old man 
smiled and bowed as Mark gave him a bill. 
“Thank you, sah; thank you, sah.” And with 
a broad grin he left the room. 

Father Murray was still reading the letter 
and Mark motioned to Saunders to come to his 
side. Looking over the priest’s shoulder, Mark 
read the lines again: 

“ My Dear Mark: His Excellency 
isn’t a very good housekeeper;'! have 
found an envelope in one of the books, 
and a tiny slip of blue-corded pencil 
in the drawer of my dressing-table. I 
should like to pension the man who 
first put fly-leaves in a book. Fortu- 
nately, my maid isn’t with me much, 
and the man in the yard can’t see my 
front window because of the tree. So 
I have only to listen to the guard in 
the next room. He is always walking 
up and down, and when he reaches the 
uncarpeted space near the door I know 
he is at the end and ready to turn back. 


250 


Charred Wood 


For that one second I can chance 
throv/ing this letter out into the street. 
I shall load it with a cut-glass ball I 
found on my desk. It is a beautiful 
little paper-weight, but its beauty 
won’t save it this time. Someone will 
surely take the letter to you. Where 
to find you is my worry. But I know 
that the signal flashes could only mean 
that you are in the city, so I am 
risking the New Willard. 

“ A warship has been sent to take the 
Grand Duchess home. I cannot con- 
vince them that I am only Ruth Ath- 
eson. I am sure they are going to send 
me away. You must get me out of this 
house quickly, or it will be too late. 

Give me this special signal and I 
will be ready: At ten-thirty any 
morning flash the light and keep it 
still on the top of the gate pillar. 
Leave it there a moment; then flash it 
once across the top if you are coming 
that day, or twice for night. If you 
receive this letter, answer it by flash- 
ing the light into my room to-morrow 
morning. I shall pray for friendly 
sunlight. 

“ Thank you for coming. I don’t 
know how you found out, but some- 
how I felt that you would. Love to 


Saunders Scores 


251 


the dear Father, if he is with you. I 
feel pretty sure he is. 

“Ruth.” 

Saunders was the first to speak. 

“ I think, Father,” he said, “ that you have 
a clever niece. This makes things easy.” 

The Padre smiled. But Mark was not smil- 
ing — one can’t do so little a thing to show 
unbounded joy. 


CHAPTER XIX 

\ 

CAPITULATION 

It was early next morning when Saunders 
knocked at Mark Griffin’s door. His knock 
was soft, for Mark’s room adjoined Father 
Murray’s. When Mark rose to let him in, the 
detective entered on tiptoe. 

“ I came down to see you early,” he said, 
because I wanted to dodge the Padre, and I 
thought perhaps he’d be over in the church for 
his Mass.” 

A good Yankee guess,” said Mark. “I 
heard him leave a few minutes ago, so you 
can talk as loud as you like. What is the mat- 
ter? Anything gone wrong? ” 

It’s just this,” said the detective. We 
must make our attempt to get Miss Atheson 
without the Padre’s knowing anything about it. 
I have been thinking about the thing, and I 
have a plan I believe will work. It’s out of 
the question to get that guard off the watch in 
252 


Capitulation 253 

any ordinary way. If we attempt it, the house 
will be alarmed and we shall be taken for 
burglars.” 

What difference if we are?” said Mark, 
very warmly. “ If the Ministry can stand pub- 
licity, we can. I am in favor of taking strong 
measures right now.” 

“Not on your life, Griffin. Not on your 
life,” said Saunders. “ You don’t seem to 
realize that the Padre cannot stand strong 
measures. Arrest as burglars would mean pub- 
licity, and there would be all sorts of fierce 
stories in the press. He is a priest — and then 
some.” 

“Well, what of it?” 

“ Sure, I know,” soothed Saunders. “ But 
the papers aren’t in the journalistic game for 
dignity, and they’d play the Padre up for all 
he was worth; the more yellow the story, the 
better. The lady must be gotten out of the 
Ministry quietly. Once we have her, it will 
be up to the Ministry to make the next move. 
I have a hunch that His Excellency won’t 
make it.” 

“ Well,” said Mark grudgingly, “ I suppose 


254 


Charred Wood 


the quiet way is the better way. What is your 
plan? Why not let Father Murray know? ” 

I can’t let him know, because he’d want 
to be in on it. At all risks, he’s got to be 
kept out. What I propose to do is to start up 
such a trouble in the rear of the house that, 
for five minutes at least, there’ll be no guard 
in the front.” 

‘‘ You would have to set it on fire to do that.” 

Saunders put his finger impressively upon a 
button of Mark’s pajamas. 

“ You’ve guessed it, first shot out of the box. 
That’s just what I’m going to do. Rather, that’s 
what we\e going to do.” 

Mark looked at him in solemn silence. 

“ Saunders, what did you have to put you 
in this condition? ” 

Plain water and a cold bath,” answered 
Saunders promptly. 

“ Then perhaps you’ll explain.” 

“ It’ll be easy. They can put the fire out 
after the lady has gotten away. The Minister 
is going to dinner to-night. Madame Minister 
— or whatever you call her — will be with 
him; so will his flock of girls, and so, of course. 


Capitulation 255 

will His Excellency’s secretary. The rest of his 
staff don’t live there. I figure that the guards, 
and the servants, and Miss Atheson will be the 
only ones in the house. The fire will bring 
all but Miss Atheson to the back. A rope 
ladder skillfully thrown will do the rest. Now 
you see why I can’t mix the Padre up in that. 
We may be arrested, though I don’t think we 
shall. The Minister doesn’t want anything of 
that kind. This morning I’ll flash the night 
escape signal to Miss Atheson. She’ll be ready 
to leave, and you may be sure she’ll find a 
way to warn us if the guard is still around. 
To-night you make an excuse to the Padre and 
slip away. He’s going to see a friend anyhow 
at the University out in Brookland. I heard 
him say so. Tell him not to worry if you 
happen to be out when he comes back. Fix 
it up any way you like, and we’ll make the 
play and win.” 

Who’s to do the ^ skillful throwing ’ of the 
ladder? ” 

“ A friend of mine who used to be a 
fireman.” 

‘‘Do you think you can get him?” 


256 


Charred Wood 


IVe engaged him already.” 

H-m.” Mark stared at the detective, then 
burst forth with, What time did you get up? ” 

“ I didn’t have to get up. I haven’t gone 
to bed yet.” 

Mark sat down in his chair to think. After a 
while he put out his hand to the detective. 

“ I believe you’ve got it, Saunders. I’ll do 
it — but you’d better get some rest.” 

“ Me for my little trundle bed.” And Saun- 
ders, in high spirits, waved his hand as he 
went out the door. 

Left alone, Mark proceeded to dress, but 
awaited Father Murray’s return before going 
down to breakfast. The time seemed long 
after breakfast, but at length the priest pre- 
pared to leave the hotel. 

Mark spoke nonchalantly. Oh, Father, I’m 
going out in the country with some friends, 
and may not get back till quite late to-night.” 

“ All right, Mark. I hope you have a pleas- 
ant trip.” 

It was so easy that Mark felt a trifle worried. 
His device was crude, and the priest had never 
before been so easily deceived. 


Capitulation 257 

It was midnight when a big automobile con- 
taining Saunders, his ex-fireman friend and 
Mark, drew up cautiously on a side street near 
the Ministry. The men at first walked quietly 
past the house. They saw a light in the apart- 
ment occupied by Ruth, but there seemed to 
be no other light within. They then walked 
around the block, passing a policeman at the 
corner, and entered the alley behind the Min- 
istry on the other side, out of the bluecoat’s 
sight. There was no one in the back yard, and 
Saunders easily effected an entrance into the 
garage, which was not far from the house. 
Taking from his pocket an ordinary hot-water 
bag, he knocked the lock off the gasoline tank 
and proceeded to fill the bag with gasoline. 
Then he turned to Mark. 

“ That’s all back here for you. Leave the 
rear work to me. Go around, you two, and 
get the ladder. In fifteen minutes I’ll have a 
fire at the back door. You’ll probably see the 
light. As soon as you hear cries from the house, 
listen well and you’ll know whether or not 
the guard has rushed back. The big door- 
window on the balcony is always left open 


258 


Charred Wood 


so that the guard can command the window 
of Miss Atheson’s room, and you can easily 
hear him open and close the inside door. If 
he doesn’t leave, the game’s up. As soon as 
you are sure he’s gone, throw up the ladder. 
If you get Miss Atheson, don’t wait for me. 
Rush her to the automobile and back to the 
hotel. I’ll take care of myself. Now go on, 
and wait for the big noise.” 

The three men moved toward the door, but 
fell back when they saw a dark figure plainly 
outlined against the dim light behind him. 
Saunders said something under his breath. The 
ex-fireman turned pale, for he thought it was 
a policeman. 

The country is beautiful in the autumn, 
isn’t it, Mark? ” 

Mark was as embarrassed as any small boy 
caught in truancy. 

“ I thought you took things rather quietly, 
Father — I might have known it was too good 
to be true. What did you come here for? 
You surely knew it was something we could 
not have you concerned in.” 

The priest laughed at Mark’s rueful tone. 


Capitulation 259 

You should have known better, Mark, than 
to think I could be so easily deceived. I am 
going to be mixed up in anything that con- 
cerns the welfare of Ruth. Besides,” he added, 
with another quiet laugh, “ I heard everything 
you two said this morning. I saw Saunders 
coming down the hall as I was leaving, and, 
as it was rather early for a casual visit, I came 
back to see what he was up to.” 

Then why in — I beg your pardon. Father 
— why in all common sense,” blurted out Saun- 
ders, did you come here? You can’t help, and 
we are taking the only possible way.” 

Happily,” rejoined Father Murray, it is 
not the only way. Come out of this, and I 
will tell you something you will be very glad 
to hear. Let us get back to your automobile. 
We must not go very far away, for we have 
yet to call at the Ministry, when His Excel- 
lency returns.” 

To-night? ” 

This morning,” gently corrected the priest. 
It was now well on toward one o’clock. 

The three men obeyed him. The ex-fireman 
got into the automobile, while Mark and Saun- 


260 


Charred Wood 


ders walked with Father Murray a short dis- 
tance ofif. When they were out of earshot, the 
priest turned to his companions. 

“ You two have been working your own plans 
while I have been working mine. When you 
had finished your little secret conference, I 
went to St. Patrick’s and said Mass. When I 
returned to the hotel, Mark didn’t seem to 
appreciate my company, so I left rather early. 
Before going to Brookland, I called at the 
State Department. Happily, I know someone 
quite high up, so I had no trouble. I told 
him the whole story, and he promised to help 
me. A few hours ago he sent for me again 
and — ” the priest smiled at his hearers’ evident 
anxiety to hear the details — ” and everything 
will be all right now. We are to see the 
Minister as soon as he returns from the banquet. 
He will probably be back by one o’clock, and 
he will listen — and listen well — to what I 
have to say. The guard will be off before we 
leave, and Ruth will be at the hotel before 
noon.” 

But, Father,” said Mark, how can you 
do it? The State Department cannot get into 


Capitulation 261 

this thing officially — cannot interfere at all. 
It is too delicate. To-morrow morning Ruth 
will be on her way to the seacoast, as sure as 
fate. She will be kept hidden there until that 
warship comes.” 

The warship will not come,” answered 
Father Murray. His Majesty’s warships will 
be engaged very busily for some time to come. 
My information — information which so far 
has not leaked out to the public — is that the 
Big Kingdom is on the verge of war. There 
will be no warship flying that flag on this side 
of the water for a long time.” 

“ War! ” said Saunders. But how does that 
help us?” 

Before Father Murray could reply, an auto- 
mobile passed swiftly. 

That is the Minister,” remarked Saunders. 

The priest looked up. “ We must hurry. 
Leave everything to me.” 

Walking hastily, the trio approached the 
Minister, who had stopped at the curb to give 
some order to his chauffeur. The ladies of 
the party had already entered the house, accom- 
panied by the secretary. 


262 


Charred Wood 


It was Father Murray who spoke. 

Pardon us, Your Excellency, for intruding 
on you at this hour, but it is necessary that we 
should speak to you at once. With your per- 
mission, we will go inside.” 

The Minister looked disturbed. 

“ Surely you know the hopelessness of it? 
I must warn you that you can secure nothing 
through violence. My guard would not hesi- 
tate to take forcible measures.” 

“ There is no need to worry about that. Your 
Excellency,” replied the priest. No need at 
all. We shall not resort to violence. It will 
not be necessary. But the matter is important, 
and we must speak to you at once/' 

The words were spoken sharply. His Excel- 
lency hesitated for a moment longer, then threw 
out his hand and motioned them toward the 
house. 

‘‘ Very well, gentlemen. Come.” 

The unwelcome guests were shown into the 
drawing-room and the lights switched on. His 
Excellency put his hat aside and turned to face 
his callers. 

“ It is already late, gentlemen, and I will 


Capitulation 263 

ask you to be as brief as possible. What is it 
you wish?” 

We shall not detain you any longer than is 
absolutely necessary,” said Father Murray. 
“ Yesterday I received a visit from your secre- 
tary, who informed me that the probabilities 
were so strong that it was my niece who had 
been killed in the railroad accident that you 
would be obliged to decide against my claims 
for the present.” 

That is exactly the case,” replied His Excel- 
lency. “ Permit me to say. Reverend Sir, that 
I can do nothing else. The Grand Duke is 
dead, and His Majesty has taken charge of 
the matter. The Grand Duchess is a ruler 
herself, at the present time. It is true she is 
only a foolish girl, who ran away to marry a 
nonentity — but affairs of state are greater than 
affairs of the heart. At all risks she must return 
to Ecknor. I must be certain of her identity 
before I can make another move. I appreciate 
the delicacy of the situation. I know that I 
have practically kidnaped the girl. But I am 
certain your State Department will want no 
trouble about it, nor will mine. If you are 


264 


Charred Wood 


right, and the girl is your niece, you have no 
cause to fear for her; she will be returned to 
this country at once. If, on the contrary, she 
is the Grand Duchess, there is no reason why 
you should seek to have her taken away 
from us.” 

Her own wishes — ” began Saunders. 

“ Pardon me, sir. Her own wishes have 
nothing to do with the matter. I confess that 
it is embarrassing that she does not want to 
go, but it is more embarrassing that she ever 
went away. She must return to her country, 
wishes or no wishes. I will consider nothing 
else. I have my orders, and I shall obey them.” 
The Minister turned toward the door, evidently 
desirous that his visitors should leave. “ I will 
ask you to excuse me now, gentlemen.” 

But matters had not been arranged to Father 
Murray’s satisfaction. He made no move to 
go, and looked straight into His Excellency’s 
face as he spoke. 

“ Your Excellency has of course been 
informed of the critical condition of affairs in 
Europe? ” 

** I do not understand.” 


Capitulation 265 

Though somewhat surprised, the priest could 
not doubt the sincerity of the speaker. He hes- 
itated but a moment, then spoke quietly. 

Before the conversation proceeds farther, 
may I suggest that it might be well for Your 
Excellency to see if there are any late dispatches 
from your home government?” Noticing the 
Minister’s haughty astonishment, he added, I 
have come from the Department of State.” 

The Minister was startled, and turned to 
leave the room. Pardon me a moment, gentle- 
men.” 

Mark turned to the priest. What have 
you up your sleeve. Father?” 

Father Murray only smiled. I think, 
Mark,” he said, “ that you are certainly improv- 
ing in the American brand of English. ‘ Up 
your sleeve ’ is decidedly good United States. 
You will want to stay with us — even though 
you are a Baron.” 

Mark could get no more out of the priest. 

In a few minutes His Excellency returned, 
his face showing signs of extreme annoyance. 

I thank you. Reverend Sir,” he said cour- 
teously. “ I cannot understand why my dis- 


266 


Charred Wood 


patches were not delivered to me at the ban- 
quet. I can only express my regret.” Father 
Murray bowed, and the Minister went on: 

The lady is probably asleep now, but I think 
I may safely promise that in a few hours she 
will be with you. It is more than probable 
that I shall relinquish all claims upon her.” 

Father Murray smiled and picked up his 
hat which was lying on a table. 

We may expect the lady before noon? ” 

Yes.” 

I thank Your Excellency. Permit us to 
bid you good morning.” 

With a courteous bow. Father Murray took 
his leave, followed by Mark and Saunders. 
The last they saw of His Excellency was the 
top of his head as he bowed them out. 

Father Murray chuckled all the way back 
to the hotel — and kept his counsel. When 
they arrived at his bedroom door, Mark stopped 
him. 

Great Heavens, Father! You’re not going 
to leave us in the dark like this? ” 

“ ^ In the dark ’ is very good United States, 
Mark.” 


Capitulation 267 

But what does it mean? What card did you 
play? ” 

Father Murray’s hand was on the doorknob, 
his eyes dancing with merriment. 

They say, Mark, that a royal flush beats 
everything. Well, I played that.” 

Mark tried to catch him but, with a low 
chuckle, he slipped into the room and closed 
the door. 


CHAPTER XX 

THE “ DUCHESS ” ABDICATES 

A few hours later — about ten o’clock — an 
automobile stopped in front of the New Wil- 
lard Hotel, and the Minister and his secretary 
alighted. The visitors were shown at once into 
Father Murray’s room where Mark, Saunders 
and the priest waited. His Excellency took 
the chair offered him and, with some hesita- 
tion in his choice of words, opened the 
conversation. 

“ Gentlemen,” he said, I first wish to con- 
gratulate you on your persistence. That per- 
sistence led me to think that there was some 
justice in your case. You can scarcely blame 
me, however, for not granting your wish imme- 
diately, especially since, as my secretary 
informed you, the effects oft the dead lady 
seemed to indicate that it was Miss Atheson 
who had been killed. I find that I was mis- 
taken. It was the Grand Duchess. There is 
268 


The '‘Duchess” Abdicates 269 

absolutely no question about that now. As 
soon as you are ready to receive Miss Atheson, 
she shall leave the Ministry where, as you 
understand, she has been an honored guest.” 

The impetuous Saunders broke out: ‘‘Your 
Excellency means an honored prisoner.” 

But Father Murray stepped into the breach. 

“ Not at all, Saunders,” he said, “ not at all.” 
Then he turned to the Minister. “ Miss Ath- 
eson has been an honored guest at the Ministry. 
That is perfectly understood, Your Excellency, 
perfectly understood.” 

The Minister bowed. “ I thank you, Rev- 
erend Sir. I am glad you do understand. Miss 
Atheson was a friend of the Grand Duchess 
Carlotta. She had known her in Europe. Why 
should she not have been a guest at the Min- 
istry of the nation which exercises a protecto- 
rate over the domains of her late Royal High- 
ness? I should wish to have that known to the 
public. This afternoon we shall give to the 
press the sad story of the visit to America of 
Her Royal Highness, under strict incognito. 
Her friend. Miss Atheson, was of course await- 
ing the arrival of the Grand Duchess, having 


270 


Charred Wood 


come down in advance. Miss Atheson will, I 
am sure, be kind enough, and considerate 
enough of the memory of Her Highness, not 
to deny any of these statements.” 

I am sure, Your Excellency,” said the 
priest, “ that Miss Atheson will keep strict 
silence as to the past. She would not wish 
to embarrass the situation nor in any way 
stain the memory of her dead friend. Of that 
you may rest assured.” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said His Excellency, 
“ but — I trust I may rely upon the discretion 
of these gentlemen?” 

Mark and Saunders bowed their assurance. 

Certainly.” 

“ Your Excellency may rely on our discre- 
tion.” 

“ It is needless for me to say,” continued the 
Minister, “ that the situation is most embarrass- 
ing. But there is no reason why the Grand 
Duchess should not have visited her friend — 
no reason why she should pot have come to 
Washington on her way back to her own 
country. She would naturally wish to avoid 
publicity and, of course, the Ministry was 


The ‘‘Duchess” Abdicates 


271 


constantly in touch with her moves. All this 
is a reasonable explanation of what has 
occurred. As to the body’s having lain neg- 
lected in the Baltimore morgue for some hours, 
something must be assumed by the telegraph 
company. The body has already been em- 
balmed, and arrangements have been made for 
its shipment to Europe. I shall myself go to 
Baltimore this afternoon. Do you. Reverend 
Sir, wish it known that the friend of the Grand 
Duchess is your niece?” 

‘‘Yes; but I wish it put,to the world in the 
proper form. Since Your Excellency is pre- 
paring copy for the papers, may I ask if you 
will permit me to revise it? ” 

“ That I shall be glad to do,” said the Min- 
ister, his face all smiles. 

As His Excellency was about to depart, Saun- 
ders stopped him. 

“ One word. Your Excellency. Baron Griffin 
and myself were witnesses to a very sad occur- 
rence in Sihasset — ” 

The Minister turned hurriedly. 

“You are mistaken, my friend,” he said, 
significantly. “ You are mistaken. You saw 


272 


Charred Wood 


nothing — remember that. It will be better for 
all concerned. Your State Department would 
not thank you for making embarrassing state- 
ments. Things have come out happily for you, 
if not for the unfortunate Duchess. Yet, after 
all, perhaps the best thing that could have hap- 
pened for her was what you believed — until 
you were corrected — happened in Sihasset. 
Baron Griffin will tell you that I speak the 
truth when I say that the next best thing was 
her own death.” 

Mark inclined his head, for he had heard 
something of the reputation of Luigi del Farno, 
when he was in Florence. 

And then for the moment the Minister was 
forgotten in the man, and tears glistened in His 
Excellency’s eyes. 

Gentlemen,” he said, “ I never saw Her 
Royal Highness. But I have heard a great deal 
of her, and I have followed her career. She 
was not born to be a Duchess. She had all 
my sympathy, for she was just a woman — 
beautiful, sentimental, loving. She was just the 
kind to do the rash things which courts will 
not tolerate. She was the kind to follow her 


The ‘‘Duchess” Abdicates 


273 


own heart and not the dictates of kings. She 
was unhappy at court, and that unhappiness 
was increased when she fell in love with the 
Italian. She was the kind who would love 
until death — and then beyond the grave. She 
was one who would make any sacrifice to her 
devotion. But she fought against the solid 
rock of princely customs and prejudices, and 
there was nothing for her but to break upon it. 
Her love ruined that young officer. He was 
doomed from the moment she went away and 
he followed her. No earthly power could 
have saved him. But — believe me — she is 
better dead than married to him. We had his 
life investigated. He has had his just deserts. 
The Grand Duchess was not the first. It is 
well that she was the last, poor girl. The 
most merciful thing that could have happened 
to a woman of her character was the thing 
that did happen. She never knew of his fate. 
She died thinking that she should meet him 
again — that she had successfully broken down 
all barriers — that she and her lover could live 
their lives in peace, here in America. She 
never learned that there could be no happiness 


274 


Charred Wood 


for her with a man like him. Let them rest 
in their graves — for graves are better than 
courts. As Minister I could not say these 
things; but I trust you, gentlemen, and I am 
talking to you now as a man who has known 
love himself. Good-bye.” 

The little man stiffened up and became the 
Minister again. 

When, gentlemen, will you be ready to 
receive Mademoiselle Atheson?” 

Father Murray bowed. Whenever Your 
Excellency is pleased to send her.” 

“ Perhaps, Reverend Sir, you will honor me 
by your presence at luncheon?” As Father 
Murray hesitated, he added, “ It will be better 
that you should accompany Mademoiselle Ath- 
eson to the hotel. Besides,” and he smiled good- 
humoredly, “ we can get together and revise 
those statements properly.” 

Father Murray bowed his acceptance and 
His Excellency took his leave. ^‘Luncheon is 
at one,” he remarked, as he left the room. “ I 
should be pleased if you would come a little 
early. I know you will desire to talk with 
Mademoiselle.” ^ 


The “Duchess^" Abdicates 275 

Shortly after twelve Father Murray was 
admitted to the Ministry, where Ruth greeted 
him aflfectionately. 

How do you like being a Grand Duchess, 
Ruth?’’ 

She made a little moue. I don’t like it at 
all. I’m abdicating to-day.” 

He laughed, and they chatted together for 
some time, being finally joined by His Excel- 
lency’s daughters, who stayed with them until 
luncheon was served. The meal proved to be a 
merry one, and after it was over the two gentle- 
men withdrew to the library, followed by 
Wratslav. Then, accompanied by Ruth, Father 
Murray returned to the hotel — in a long, low- 
built limousine. 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

The Bishop hurriedly pushed aside his almost 
untouched breakfast and hastened to his study. 
The time was short, and there was much to be 
done. His secretary, always prompt, handed 
him the morning papers, but the Bishop pushed 
them aside. 

“No, I haven’t time now. Put them in my 
grip.” 


Charred Wood 


276 


The secretary started to speak, but the Bishop 
was already giving his instructions, and his 
subordinate waited, perforce, for a more oppor- 
tune time — which never came. 

On the train, the Bishop’s breviary first 
claimed his attention. As he paused to rest 
his eyes, his idle glance was suddenly arrested 
by the flaring headlines of a paper across the 
aisle. Quickly he opened his grip and brought 
forth his own papers. Ah, here it was — on 
the first page. 


I' 

w 

) 


) 


MISS RUTH ATHESON TO WED BARON GRIFFIN 
Former Vicar-General Announces 
the Engagement of His Niece. 

And, in the next column: 

GRAND DUCHESS CARLOTTA VICTIM OF WRECK 
Ruler of Ecknor Killed While 
on Her Way to Washington. 

The story was skillfully written. No one had 

remembered,” or at least influence had been 
able to suppress unpleasant comment. But for 
the Bishop the mere jifxtaposition of words 
was enough. In fancy he was back in the Sem- 


1 


The “Duchess’’ Abdicates 277 

inary at Rome where he had first met Donald 
Murray. He saw the tall young Englishman 
at his desk, in front of him the portrait of a 
charming child. 

“ My niece,” he had said. She’s a win- 
some little thing. I miss her sorely.” 

He recalled, too, how someone had related 
the romance of Edgar Atheson, who had later 
become Grand Duke of Ecknor. Donald Mur- 
ray had been strangely silent, he remembered. 
And — yes, it was just after that that the pic- 
ture had disappeared from his desk. “ It is 
best,” had been Donald Murray’s only com- 
ment. 

The Bishop remembered now. And he knew 
why Monsignore had looked so surprised and 
reproachful when asked to give his “ full ” 
confidence regarding Ruth Atheson. He 
understood, now, the meaning of the quiet, 
“ My Lord, there are some things I cannot 
discuss even with you.” 

The Bishop bowed his head. “ Blind, blind,” 
he murmured, to have known so much, to have 
understood so little. Can you ever forgive me, 
my friend? ” 


CHAPTER XXI ^ 


THE BECKONING HAND 

The autumn tints were full on the trees in 
Sihasset, but the air was still balmy enough to 
make the veranda of Father Murray’s residence 
far more pleasant than indoors. The Pastor 
had returned. Pipe in hand, wearing his com- 
fortable old cassock, and with a smile of inef- 
fable peace on his face, he sat chatting with 
Saunders. The detective was evidently as 
pleased as Father Murray. He was leaning 
on “ Old Hickory ” and puffing at a cigar, with 
contentment in every line of his countenance. 

‘‘No job I ever did. Father, gave me more 
satisfaction than this one,” he was saying. “ It 
was well worth while, even though I’ll have 
to go out now and look for another one.” 

“ I do not believe, Mr. Saunders,” said 
Father Murray, “ that you will have to look 
for another position. In fact, I do not believe 
you would care for the s^e kind of position 
278 


The Beckoning Hand 279 

you had before — would you? I suppose I 
shall have to let you into a little secret. Mark 
is not going to stay all the time on his Irish 
estate. He has bought Killimaga and expects 
to be here for at least part of each year. I 
heard him say that he would try to influence 
you to become his intendent.” 

“Well, that sounds pretty big, Father. But 
what does an intendent intend to do? It’s a 
new one on me.” 

“ An intendent, my dear Mr. Saunders,” said 
Father Murray, “ is quite a personage on the 
other side. He is the man who runs the busi- 
ness affairs of a castle. He has charge of all 
the property. It is quite a good position; 
better, in fact, than that of a private detective. 
Then, you see, his care of the servants and 
continued watchfulness over the property makes 
detective experience somewhat valuable. If 
the salary suits you, by all means I would advise 
you to accept the offer. Besides, you know, 
Mr. Saunders, we have all gotten to like you 
very much. Apart from the fact that you are 
what Mrs. O’Leary would call ‘ a black Prot- 
estant,’ I look upon you as one of my own.” 


280 


Charred Wood 


Saunders laughed. “ ‘ A black Protestant ’ 
indeed! A lot of difference that makes with 
you. Why, you were ‘ a black Protestant ’ 
yourself, Father Murray, and In some ways 
I believe they only whitewashed you.” 

“ Now, Mr. Saunders,” reproved Father 
Murray, “ that is not very complimentary. 
There is no whitewash or veneer about my 
Catholicity.” 

Despite the quizzical good-humor of the 
priest, there was a touch of seriousness in his 
voice, and Saunders hastened to explain. 

“ I didn’t mean it quite that way. Father 
— only it strikes me that there is always a 
difference between what I call the ^ simon-pure 
Catholic ’ and the one that wasn’t born a 
Catholic.” 

“ Well, Mr. Wise Man,” said the priest, 
“ perhaps you’ll explain the difference.” 

Saunders looked puzzled. It is a hard 
thing to explain. Father,” he said, and then 
hesitated; “but I’ll try to do it. In the first 
^ place — but this doesn’t go for you — I think 
that the convert is more bigoted than the other 
kind. Now, honestly, don’t you? ” 


The Beckoning Hand 281 

Father Murray was amused. “ I am glad, 
Mr. Saunders,’’ he replied, “ that you leave me 
out of it. That is a real compliment. Now, 
let us put it this way: If you had been the pos- 
sessor of a million dollars from the time of 
your birth, it would be a matter of course 
with you, would it not? ” 

Certainly.” 

But if you should suddenly acquire a mil- 
lion dollars, you would naturally feel very 
much elated about it. Is that not true?” 

Yes — but what then?” 

“ That is the way it is with converts to any- 
thing. They suddenly acquire what to them is 
very precious and, like the newly-made mil- 
lionaire, they are fearful of anything that 
threatens their wealth. They become enthu- 
siasts about what they have — and I must con- 
fess that some of them even become a bit of 
a nuisance. But it is a good sign. It is a 
sign of sincerity, and you cannot overlook 
sincerity. There is too little of it in the world.” 
“ I am mighty glad now,” said Saunders, 
that you haven’t got it.” 

What? The sincerity? ” 


282 


Charred Wood 


“Oh, Lord, no! — the bigotry. Anyhow, if 
I stay here, you won’t have much trouble with 
me for, like a certain man I once read about, 
the church I don't go to is the Methodist.” 

“Then I will have to give you up,” said 
Father Murray. “ If the Methodist were the 
one you actually did go to, I might have half 
a chance to make you a convert; but since you 
do not go to any, I am afraid that my counsels 
would fall upon stony ground. But you will 
always be welcome to the rectory, even if you 
do not bother the church,” he added. 

“ But surely. Father,” said Saunders, “ you 
are not going to stay here? Hasn’t the Bishop 
made you his Vicar-General again? And 
doesn’t he want you to go back to the 
Cathedral? ” 

“ That is true,” answered the priest, his face 
becoming grave. “ But I have grown very 
fond of Sihasset, and the Bishop has kindly 
given me permission to remain in charge of 
the parish here.” 

“ I don’t quite understand that,” said the 
visitor in an urging way.. “ I should hate to 
lose you. Father — for of course I shall stay 


The Beckoning Hand 283 

if the Baron offers me the position, and I’m 
going to bring the wife and kiddies, too — I 
like the place, and I like the people — but 
when I was a common soldier, I wanted to be 
a sergeant, and when I became sergeant I 
wanted to be a lieutenant. I suppose if I had 
gotten the lieutenancy, I should have wanted a 
captaincy, and then I shouldn’t have been sat- 
isfied until I had charge of a battalion — and 
so on up the line. It takes all the ginger out 
of a man if he has no ambitions. Why shouldn’t 
a priest have them, too?” 

Some of them have,” answered Father 
Murray, when they are young. But when 
they ^ arrive ’ they begin to find out the truth 
of what they were told in the seminary long 
before — that ^ arriving ’ does not make them 
any happier. In the Catholic Church, position 
means trouble and worry, because it means that 
you become more of a servant yet assume 
greater responsibilities. If a man can center 
his ambitions in the next world, it makes him 
a great deal happier in this. I have had my 
ambitions — and I have had them realized, 
too. But I found means to transplant them 


284 


Charred Wood 


where they belonged. Having transplanted 
them, I do not propose to take them out of 
good heavenly soil and put them back on the 
earth again. As they are quite well grown 
now in the garden of God, I am not going to 
risk losing them by making a change, if I can 
help it. I shall stay in Sihasset if I am per- 
mitted to do so. Should I be called away, 
that is a different matter. Please God, when 
I go out — to quote my friend. Father Daly — 
I’ll go out feet first.” 

“ I suppose you’re right. Father,” said Saun- 
ders, “ I suppose you’re right. Anyhow, I’m 
glad that you’re going to stay. By the way, 
now that you’ve told me one secret, won’t you 
tell me another? ” 

Father Murray became very cheerful again. 

I bet I can guess what you want to know 
now, Saunders.” 

Well, I’ll give you one guess,” answered 
the detective. 

“You want to know,” said Father Murray, 
“ why the Minister gave up so easily.” 

“ I do,” replied Saunders. “ That’s just 
what I want to know. You must have told 


The Beckoning Hand 285 

the Baron, but you have never told me. I 
want to know what magic you worked.” 

I suppose I shall have to tell you. Being 
a detective, you have learned to keep your 
mouth shut. Here is the whole story: As I 
told you, I had a friend in the State Depart- 
ment. Well, I went to him and, for old times’ 
sake, he tried to help, and did. When I told 
him my story, he believed me, but he very 
frankly informed me that the matter was a 
delicate one and that, officially, he could do 
nothing. He wasn’t entirely ignorant of the 
young Italian, but he said that would probably 
have to be ^forgotten.’ He pointed out that 
the body had disappeared, that the man was 
absolutely unknown here, and that to prove 
murder would be practically impossible. Still, 
he agreed that our knowledge of the murder 
would be a powerful help toward making His 
Excellency reasonable. He outlined how that 
game should be played, and before I left he 
had arranged for someone to meet the Min- 
ister at the banquet that night, and delicately 
suggest that the State Department had had 
some inquiry regarding the disappearance of a 


286 


Charred Wood 


brilliant young Italian officer. Knowing what 
would happen at the banquet, I was ready to 
meet the Minister. But it wasn’t necessary to 
rely wholly on that. Late that night — after 
my return from Brookland — my friend sent 
for me to come to him at once. I went, and 
he showed me the translation of a cipher- 
dispatch which had just been received from 
Europe. That dispatch gave information con- 
cerning a dangerous situation which might lead 
to war. It was very long, and dwelt also on 
the situation in a certain Grand Duchy, the 
ruler of which had just died. The next in 
line, a girl, had disappeared. The King was 
worried. With war almost on his hands, he 
did not want the girl to take the throne, but 
rather desired the succession of her uncle, who 
was a strong soldier and just the man for the 
emergency. The dispatch left it plainly to 
be understood that the girl was in America, 
and that the King would be glad if she 
remained here permanently — in other words, 
that she be allowed quietly to disappear. It 
was a cold-blooded proposition to deprive her 
of her rights, or to find some means of doing 


The Beckoning Hand 287 

it. Our own military attache at the royal 
capital secured the information; and, since 
America had been mentioned, thought it his 
duty to forward the dispatch to our State 
Department. As soon as my friend had read 
it, he sent for me. He put me under a pledge 
of secrecy until the matter was settled. It has 
been settled now; but there is no need of the 
story going any farther than yourself. ^ Since 
the girl has died,’ said my friend, ‘ the wishes 
of the King may easily be obeyed. The uncle 
will ascend the throne, and the Duchy will 
remain an ally of the Kingdom. This infor- 
mation should be in the hands of the Minister 
now and, instead of trying to prove that the 
lady is the Grand Duchess, he will probably be 
only too anxious to be rid of her.’ I had all 
that information,” continued Father Murray, 
when I went to find you gentlemen and save 
you from getting into mischief.” 

“ We would have had a glorious time, 
Father,” sighed Saunders, regretfully. Then 
he leaned back and whistled softly as his mind 
grasped the full significance of the priest’s 
words. The detective business, Father,” he 


288 


Charred Wood 


said energetically, “ ha§ many angles, and few 
of them are right angles; but I think that the 
number of obtuse and other kind of angles is 
much larger in diplomacy. But I rather like 
that Minister,” he added. He isn’t heartless.” 

“No,” replied Father Murray, as he con- 
templatively lighted a cigar. “ He was mighty 
human when he came to see us at the New 
Willard. Don’t you remember how he forgot 
himself — even had tears in his eyes when he 
referred to the dead Duchess and the fact that 
she was better off in her grave than she would 
have been' at court? His wife had taken a 
genuine liking to Ruth, and the man himself 
was more than half convinced that she was all 
she claimed to be, but he wasn’t free to release 
her. He now wants to make reparation — but 
he wants also to support the idea that Ruth 
Atheson was only the friend of the dead 
Duchess and, therefore, that the Duchess is 
really dead. It would be very unfortunate, if, 
later on, it should prove that he had been 
deceived. He would find it difficult to explain 
matters to His Majesty if a Grand Duchess, 
supposedly dead, should suddenly prove very 


The Beckoning Hand 289 

much alive and demand possession of a throne 
already occupied by her successor. So His 
Excellency wants the lady married as ‘ Ruth 
Atheson ’ with due solemnity and with proper 
witness. There is method, Mr. Saunders, even 
in his kindness.” 

Saunders whistled again. It beats me. 
Father,” he said. “ I own up. They know 
more than detectives.” 

At this moment Mark came striding over the 
lawn. 

Hello, Saunders,” he called. “I’ve been 
looking for you. that I’ve got you, I 

might as well have it out and be done with it. 
Ruth wants you to stay here. She wants to 
make you one of us. We are going to Ireland 
for six months, and then wehe coming back 
to live here part of each year. We want 
you to take charge of Killimaga. I’ve bought 
it. A good salary — no quarreling or dickering 
about it. What do you say? ” 

“ This is certainly a surprise,” said Saunders, 
winking at the Padre. “ Have you room for 
an extra family?” 

“ You’re married? ” 


290 


Charred Wood 


Very much so.” 

“ The bigger the family the better. But,” he 
added, as an afterthought, I’ll have to tell 
Ruth, or she’ll be trying to marry you off. 
You’ll come, then?” 

“ Yes,” said Saunders, “ I guess I’ll take you 
up on that.” 

Mark shook hands with him. “ Done. You’re 
a good old chap. I thought you would stay.” 

Then, turning to Father Murray, Mark spoke 
more seriously. “ Don’t you think. Father, that 
it is almost time to meet the Bishop? He is 
coming on the next train, you know.” He 
paused and seemed momentarily embarrassed. 
Then he straightened up and frankly voiced 
his thought. “ Before he comes, will you not 
step into the church with me? I have a lot 
of things to straighten out.” 

The priest stood up and put his hand on 
Mark’s shoulder. “ Do you mean that, my 
boy? ” 

I do,” replied Mark. “ I told you in Wash- 
ington that I never passed an open church door 
that my mind did not conjure up a beckoning 
hand behind it, and that I knew that some day 


The Beckoning Hand 291 

I should see my mother’s face behind the hand. 
I have seen the face. It was imagination, per- 
haps — in fact, I know it must have been — 
but it was mother’s face — and I am coming 
home.” 

The last words were spoken softly, reverent- 
ly, and together the priest and the penitent 
entered the church. 


CHAPTER XXII 
ruth’s confession 

Late that afternoon Mark sat alone in the 
great library at Killimaga, his head thrown 
back, his hands grasping the top of his chair. 
His thoughts were of the future, and he did not 
hear the light footsteps behind him. Then — 
two soft arms stole lightly around his neck, 
and Ruth’s beautiful head was bowed until her 
lips touched his forehead. It was a kiss of 
benediction, speaking of things too holy for 
words. 

He covered her hands with his own. “ Ruth.” 
The tones breathed a world of love. 

I am so happy,” she murmured. 

He started to rise, but one small hand, escap- 
ing from his grasp, rested on his head and held 
him firmly. 

I have a great deal to tell you, Mark. But 
first I want you to know how happy I am 
that you have come back to Mother Church. 


292 


Ruth’s Confession 


293 


I have been praying so hard, Mark, and I 
should have been miserable had you refused 
to return. Our union would never have been 
perfect without full harmony of thought, and 
we might have drifted apart. But I am happy 
now.” Lightly her fingers stroked his brow 
and twined among his curls. 

He arose and, clasping her hands in both 
his own, he gazed down into her eyes. 

And I too am happy, dear one. You have 
brought me two blessings: I have found not 
only love, but peace at last after many years.” 
Tenderly he raised her hands to his lips. “ But 
come, dear; it is too glorious a day to remain 
in the house. Shall we go outside?” 

It was but a mcrment till she returned ready 
for a walk, and together they sauntered toward 
the bluff, where she seated herself on a great 
rock. Sitting at her feet, his head resting 
against the rock, his hand raised to clasp hers, 
he was content. For a while they sat in silence, 
gazing far out over the sea into the glory of 
the sunset. At last she loosed her hand from 
his grasp and rested it lightly on his head. 

Mark, dear, you know that there are to 


294 


Charred Wood 


be no secrets between us two now, don’t you? ” 

He looked up and answered promptly. Not 
one — not a single one, for all the days of the 
future, my darling. But,” he added, I have 
none that are unrevealed.” 

“ I am not so fortunate, dear. I have a great 
one, and now I am going to tell it all to you.” 

But — ” 

“No, let me do all the talking until you 
hear it to the end, and let me tell it in my 
own way.” 

“ All right,” and he pressed her hand lov- 
ingly. 

“ I never knew my father, Mark,” she went 
on, “ and yet I heard of his death only a short 
time ago — in Washington. His name was not 
‘ Atheson.’ He was a very great personage, no 
less than the Grand Duke of Ecknor, Prince 
Etkar.” 

Mark started, but Ruth put up her hand. 
“ You promised. Let me go on.” 

“ My mother married my father, who then 
called himself Edgar Atheson, in London. He 
was the younger son of the then reigning Grand 
Duke and had left home for political reasons, 


Ruth’s Confession 


295 


expecting never to return. But his father and 
his elder brother were both killed by a bomb 
a few days after his marriage to my mother. 
He returned to Ecknor, and she went with him. 
In six months he had married, legally but not 
legitimately, a princess of the protecting king- 
dom. Under the laws of the kingdom the prin- 
cess was his legal mate, the Grand Duchess of 
Ecknor, but my mother was his wife before 
God and the Church. The Grand Duke gave 
her a large fortune, and she had a beautiful 
home near the palace. Everyone knew and 
pitied her, but they respected her. The Grand 
Duke soon ceased to care for his morganatic 
wife, but he never deserted her. Then, a year 
after the court marriage, I was born. It was 
given out that the Grand Duchess had also 
given birth to a daughter, Carlotta. 

Mark patted her hand, but kept his promise 
of silence. Ruth went on. 

After that, the Grand Duke seemed to lose 
all interest in his English wife. My mother 
was very unhappy and wanted to return to 
England. She finally escaped, with me, in a 
closed carriage. My uncle met us as we crossed 


296 


Charred Wood 


the frontier, and it was only then that mother 
understood why her escape had been so easy — 
the Grand Duke had wanted her away. She 
saw England only to die heart-broken, for she 
had loved her husband devotedly. My uncle 
kept me with him until he became a Catholic 
and went to Rome to study. Then I was sent 
to school in Europe. Later I came to America. 
But I had many friends in Europe and visited 
them frequently. It was on one of these visits 
that I met Carlotta. She knew, and we became 
fast friends, as well as sisters.” 

“ But not full sisters,” Mark said, thinking 
that the story was over. 

Wait,” cautioned Ruth. “ There is more. 
Mother died thinking I was her only child. 
But two girls were born to mother, and a dead 
child to the Grand Duchess. Mother never saw 
one of her babies. She never knew. And it 
was years before the Grand Duchess learned 
that her child had died. Carlotta was my full 
sister. She was stolen to replace the dead child. 
Now do you see? ” 

“ But how did you come to know all this? ” 
asked Mark. 


Ruth’s Confession 


297 


Carlotta told me. The Grand Duchess 
never seemed to care for Carlotta; Carlotta’s 
old nurse resented this and one day, after a 
worse storm than usual, told Carlotta that the 
Duchess was not her mother. There was a 
terrible scene in the palace. The old nurse 
was all but banished, but Carlotta saved her. 
She was sworn to secrecy by the Grand Duke. 
The Duchess died later as a result of the affair 
— of apoplexy. Then the nurse disappeared, 
no one knew how or where, but not before she 
had told Carlotta all about the twins that were 
born to the Grand Duke’s English wife. Car- 
lotta had the secret and ruled her father with 
it. She was allowed her own way, and it was 
not always a good way. Her last escapade 
was the one you already know. Poor girl, she 
was as good as a court would let her be; and 
here in Sihasset she repented. But she believed 
in her lover, which I never did. I knew his 
reputation, but she would not listen to a word 
against him. Now you have the whole story.” 

And you,” Mark managed to say, you are 
the real Grand Duchess now. What a mis- 
fortune! ” 


298 


Charred Wood 


No,” she replied, I could never make 
such a claim; for my mother’s marriage was 
never admitted by the court as a royal mar- 
riage. It was considered morganatic. Her 
children were legitimate, but could never suc- 
ceed to the throne.” 

But, even so,” insisted Mark, you are 
the Grand Duchess.” 

Ruth put her hand gently over his mouth. 

I am to be more than a grand duchess, dear. 
I am to be your wife — to-morrow.” 

The sun was below the horizon now. For a 
while longer they watched its banners of flam- 
ing red and yellow flung across the sky. Then, 
hand in hand, they retraced their steps to Kil- 
limaga, where Mark left her with a whispered. 

Sweet dreams, dear,” and went his way toward 
the rectory. 

As he sauntered aimlessly along, his thoughts 
were all of her. Never once had she lectured 
him on religious matters, yet she was splendidly 
sincere, and her faith of the greatest. And she 
had been praying for him all the time! Yet 
what need of speech? Her very self, her every 
action, her nice sense of right, were greater 


Ruth’s Confession 


299 


than any sermon he had ever heard from mortal 
lips. She was a woman whom any man might 
well love — and honor. 

Reluctantly Mark at last sought the rectory, 
where the Bishop and Monsignore awaited him. 
And almost desperately he sought to evade Ann, 
whose dinner had been kept waiting. Seeing 
the attempt was vain, he threw up his hands. 

Both hands up, Ann. I claim the protec- 
tion of the Bishop.” 

And Ann, not displeased, went on her way. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


CHARRED WOOD 

All Sihasset was in the little church next 
morning. Mrs. O’Leary, grand even in her 
widow’s weeds, had a front seat before St. 
Joseph’s altar, where she could see everything, 
and crowded into the pew with her were all 
the little O’Leary’s. The old lady had had 
some misgivings about attending a wedding so 
soon after her husband’s death; but the misgiv- 
ings were finally banished for — as she con- 
fided to the eldest of her grandchildren — 
Sure, ’tis Miss Ruth who is gettin’ married, 
and himself would want me there.” 

So Mrs. O’Leary arrived two hours ahead 
' of time and secured her point of vantage. 
Under more ordinary circumstances she would 
have had a hard time to quiet the energetic 
youngsters, but now they had enough to occupy 
their minds, for when had they seen such 
gorgeous flowers, such wonderful ferns? The 
300 


Charred Wood 


301 


sanctuary was massed with them, the little 
altar standing out in vivid relief against their 
greenness. And then there was that wonderful 
strip of white canvas down the center aisle, 
that white strip that was so tempting to little 
feet, but which must not be stepped upon. And 
what were those kneeling benches for — the 
two draped in white — one on each side of 
the open gateway, just inside the communion 
railing? And over on the left was a platform 
bearing a great chair, and over it hung a 
canopy — only the children didn’t call it so — 
of purple. 

They had never seen the sanctuary look like 
this before! And then their attention was 
attracted by the strains of the new organ, hur- 
riedly bought for the occasion. The choir from 
the city was practising before the service. 
Truly, the little O’Learys were glad that 
Grandma ” had ignored their cries and had 
insisted on coming early. And what would 
Miss Wilson say at not being permitted to play 
for the wedding? That thought alone was 
enough to keep the little minds busy. 

Outside, Main Street was decorated with 


302 


Charred Wood 


flags; and the people, keenly expectant, were 
watching for His Excellency. Never before 
had they known the Minister of a Kingdom 
to step within the boundaries of Sihasset. 
Bishops had been seen there before, but Min- 
isters were new, and international weddings 
had never come nearer than the great metrop- 
olis. Barons, too, were scarce, and who loves 
a baron — provided he is not an American 
“ baron ’’ — any more than the simon-pure Yan- 
kee? So the decorations were up by order of 
the selectmen, and the merchants vied with 
one another in making their own ornamenta- 
tions as gorgeous as possible. And the people 
— with the sole exception of the O’Learys — 
waited outside, each anxious to catch the first 
glimpse of the great man who to-day was to 
honor them by his presence. 

His Excellency arrived at last — in a low, 
swift-running automobile, the chauffeur of 
which seemed to know the road very well, and 
seemed also to be acquainted with every turn 
in the village. There was no one to notice 
that, when he passed the gates of Killimaga, 
he laughed quietly. 


Charred Wood 


303 


At Killimaga the gardens had never looked 
lovelier. Autumn was kind and contributed 
almost a summer sun. 

Father Murray tore himself away from his 
guests at the rectory — and who should those 
guests be but the old friends who had for so 
long neglected him — to run up before the 
ceremony to see Ruth. She was already 
arrayed in her bridal finery, but she rushed 
out to meet him when she heard that he had 
arrived. 

Holding her off at arm’s length, he looked 
at her and said, “ I think, dearie, that I am 
going to die very soon.” 

^‘Die! Why, you old love, how could you 
get that notion into your head?” 

“ Because,” he answered, I am so very, 
very happy — too happy. I have had a great 
deal more, dear, than I was ever entitled to 
in this life. When I sent you away and went 
to Rome, I feared I had given you up forever; 
and, behold, here I am, with the silver hairs 
coming — a priest with all the consolations that 
a priest can have, and yet I have a daughter, 
too.” And smiling in his own winning way. 


304 


Charred Wood 


he added, “And such a daughter! — even if 
she is really only a niece.” 

Ruth laughed softly and drew his arm around 
her as she laid hers lightly on his shoulder. 

“ I am afraid,” she said, “ that the daugh- 
ter never deserved the kind of a daddy she has 
had — the only one she ever knew. If Car- 
lotta — ” 

But Father Murray interrupted hastily as 
he observed the touch of sorrow in her voice. 

“ Do not think of her to-day, my dear,” he 
said. “ Put her out of your mind. You have 
prayed for her, and so have I. It is all we can 
do, and we can always pray. Forget her until 
to-morrow and then — never forget.” 

Seeing that the sad look had not been entirely 
chased away, he added, cheerfully: 

“ Now, before I go back to the Bishop and 
my friends, I want to ask you one serious 
question.” 

Ruth looked up with sudden interest. “ As 
many as you like.” 

He took her hands in his and looked keenly 
into her face. “ It was always a mystery to 
me,” he said, “how you and Mark fell in love 


Charred Wood 


305 


with each other so promptly. He saw you com- 
ing out of the tree-door, then he met you once 
or twice, and after that he lost his head; and 
you — minx! — you lost yours. I have often 
heard of love at first sight, but this is the only 
example I have ever seen of it. Explain, please, 
for the ways of youth are strange, and even 
yet — old as I am — I have not learned to 
understand them.” 

Why,” she answered, “ I had met him long 
before. Don’t you remember that day in Lon- 
don when you said good-bye to your congre- 
gation? Have you forgotten that Ruth was 
there? ” she asked archly, half reproachfully. 

Father Murray’s eyes lit up. You remem- 
bered, then! Yes, yes. He told me of the little 
girl. And you really remembered?” 

He was standing in front of her now, holding 
her at arm’s length and looking straight at 
her glowing face. 

I remembered. I knew that day that you 
were suffering, and though I was only eight 
years old, I cried for you while I was sitting 
all alone in the big pew. He passed me, and 
smiled. When he came out again, he saw that 


306 


Charred Wood 


I was still crying. I asked him about you, and 
he said something that went straight to my little 
girl’s heart: he praised you. To soothe me, he 
took me in his arms and — well,” she added 
blushing, he kissed me. I fell in love with 
that big man right there; I never lost the 
memory of him or that kiss. When I saw him 
here at Killimaga, and when he told me what 
I wanted so badly to hear, I knew he was worth 
waiting for. If you want to know more about 
the ways of youth, daddy dear,” she continued 
saucily, “ only know that I would have waited 
a century — if I could have lived so long, and 
if I had had to wait.” 

‘‘Tell me, Ruth, what shall I give you? I 
alone have sent nothing,” he said. “ ‘ Ask and 
you shall receive,’ you know. What is to be 
my poor offering for the wedding feast? ” 

“ Will you promise beforehand to grant it? ” 

“ If I can, dear, I will grant it.” 

“ Goody! ” she cried, in almost childish glee. 
Then she stepped lightly away, her hands 
behind her, and, like a mischievous child, she 
leaned slightly forward as she spoke. “ Here 
it is: Wear your purple to-day — I like it.” 


Charred Wood 


307 


“ But, child, I don’t want — ” 

One white hand was raised in protest, and 
he seemed once more to be in London, a tiny 
figure before him, the blue eyes open wide and 
the graceful head nodding emphasis to each 
word: 

“ You — promised — uncle.” 

Even so the child had spoken. Monsignore 
was learning more of the ways of youth. He 
sighed. 

All right,” he granted, I will wear the 
purple.” 

Thank you — and God bless you. Mon- 
signore.” 

And God bless you, my child.” Monsignore 
lifted his hand in blessing, then hurried to the 
church to prepare for the Mass. 

The church was already crowded as he 
stepped from the sanctuary, clad in rich white 
vestments — a present from Mark. Leaning 
on the arm of the minister, Ruth came slowly 
up the aisle, her filmy lace veil flowing softly 
around her and far down over the delicate 
satin of her sweeping train. As they neared 
the altar where Monsignore stood waiting, her 


308 


Charred Wood 


maids, friends who had come hurriedly from 
England, stepped aside and Mark took his 
stand at her right. Her small hand trembled in 
his as the words of the nuptial service were 
pronounced, but her eyes spoke volumes of love 
and trust. Then each sought a prie-dieu and 
knelt to pray, while the service went on and 
from the choir rang the beautiful tones of the 
Messe Solennelle. The voices softened with 
the Agnus Dei, then faded into silence. 
Together the bride and groom approached the 
linen cloth held by the surpliced altar boys, 
and together they received the greatest of sacra- 
ments, then returned to their prie-dieux. 

The service over, Mark arose and joined his 
wife. Slowly the bridal party went down the 
aisle and out to the waiting car which bore 
them swiftly to Killimaga. When the time 
came to part. Monsignore and his guests accom- 
panied Baron Griffin and his bride to the train, 
then once more sought the quiet of the ivy- 
clad rectory. 

But even the most pleasant of days must 
end. The happy group broke up as the guests 
departed, and at last Monsignore sat alone 


Charred Wood 


309 


before the blazing fire which Ann had builded 
in the study, for the chill of the autumn evening 
was in the air. 

Mark and Ruth by this time were in Boston 
making ready to sail on the morrow. Ann had 
suggested a cup of tay because you’re tired, 
Monsignore,” but Monsignore wanted to be 
alone with his thoughts and would have none 
of it. He wondered why he was not lonely, 
for he had dreaded the hours to follow his 
good-bye to Mark and Ruth. But lonely he 
was not, for he was happy. It seemed to him 
as if some mysterious and forbidding gates had 
been suddenly flung open, and a flood of happi- 
ness loosed upon him. His last guest of the 
day had been the Bishop, who had let all go 
before him that for an hour he might be alone 
with the friend who once had had all his love 
and all his trust. Now both love and trust 
were again his friend’s, and the Bishop’s pleas- 
ure was even greater than the priest’s. 

“ I would gladly give you both cross and 
crozier if I could, my friend,” His Lordship 
had said. 

I will gladly take what I can of your cross. 


310 


Charred Wood 


my dear Bishop,” Father Murray had an- 
swered, very simply; ‘‘but I am happier to 
see the crozier in more worthy hands. God 
has been good to me. I am satisfied.” 

“ You will come to the cathedral as of old? ” 
Though voiced as a request, the words were a 
command. 

“ Let me stay here, I beg of you,” pleaded 
the priest. “I am no longer young — ” 

“ Age is not counted by years.” 

“ I love it here and — ” 

But the Bishop raised his hand, and the 
priest was silent. 

“ You may stay for the present. That much 
I grant you.” 

But Monsignore’s heart was too full for long 
silence, his fears too great. He spoke hurriedly, 
pleadingly. 

“Will you not protect me?” 

“ I may not be able to protect you.” 

“ I am tired, my dear Bishop — tired, but 
contented. Here is rest, and peace. And 
when they come back, you know I want to be 
near them. Let me stay.” 

“Yes, I know,” said the Bishop, and his 


Charred Wood 311 

voice forbade further plea. “You may stay — 
for the present.” 

Then the Bishop, too, had left; and now 
Monsignore was alone. He sat in his great 
armchair and watched the flames of the fire 
dancing and playing before him. He mar- 
veled at his pleasure in them, as he marveled 
at his pleasure now in the little things that were 
for the future to be the great things for him. 
Before his vision rose the cathedral he had 
builded, with its twin towers piercing the sky; 
but somehow the new organ of the little church 
gave him greater pleasure. “ The people were 
so happy about having it,” he had that day 
explained to Father Darcy. His wonderful 
seminary on the heights had once seemed the 
greatest thing in the world to him, but now it 
was less than the marble altars Mark had 
ordered for the little church only yesterday. 
He remembered the crowds that had hung upon 
his eloquence in the city, but now he knew that 
his very soul was mirrored in the simple dis- 
courses to his poor in Sihasset. 

“ I couldn’t go back,” he said to the burning 
log, “ I couldn’t be great again when I know 


312 Charred Wood 

how much true happiness there is in being 
little.” 

Then he lifted his eyes to where, from above 
the fireplace, there smiled down at him the 
benign face of Pius the Tenth. Poor Pope,” 
he said. “ He has to be great, but this is what 
he would love. He never could get away from 
it quite. Doesn’t he preach to the people yet, 
so as to feel the happiness of the pastor, and 
thus forget for an hour the fears and trials of 
the ruler?” 

The fire was dying, but he did not stoop to 
replenish it. His thoughts were too holy and 
comforting to be broken in upon. But they 
were broken by Ann’s knock. 

“ That McCarthy is sick ag’in,” she said. 

’Tis a nice time for the likes of him to be 
botherin’ yer Riverence. Will I tell them ye’ll 
go in the mornin’? ” 

No, Ann, tell them Pll go now.” 

‘‘Can’t ye have wan night in peace?” 

“ McCarthy is peace, Ann. You don’t under- 
stand.” 

No, Ann didn’t understand. She only saw 
more labor. She didn’t understand that it was 


Charred Wood 313 

only this that the priest needed to crown the 
glory of his day. 

So Father Murray took his coat and hat and, 
with a light step, went out — a father going 
to the son who needed him. 

He was not a bit tired when he came back 
to the blazing logs; but now he was perturbed, 
borne down by a prescience of coming change. 
From one point to another he walked — slowly, 
uneasily, pausing now and then. Finally he 
stood by his desk. Above it hung a large cru- 
cifix. His lips moved in prayer as he gazed 
on the crucified Christ. Then idly he picked 
up a book. It fell open in his h^d, and he 
gazed thoughtfully at the oft-scanned page. 
How many times had he pondered those two 
lines 


I fear to love thee, sweet, because 
Love’s the ambassador of loss.” 

Thus read the priest who felt that peace was 
no longer possible. For a little while, perhaps 
— but not for long. The call would come 
again, and he would have to answer. He read 


314 


Charred Wood 


once more, changing one word as he spoke the 
lines softly to himself, 

I fear to love thee, ‘ peace/ because 
Love’s the ambassador of loss.” 

Yet, even in his vague unrest, this prelate 
who through humility had found the greater 
love, recalled his own words to Mark Griffin: 
“ No one has lost what he sincerely seeks to 
find.” Was not the past merely a preparation 
for the future? Peace might be found in any 
kind of duty. He looked up into the face of the 
sculptured Christ, and a swiftly-receding wave 
of agony swept across his mobile features, while 
his hand clenched tightly. A soldier of the 
Cross,” he murmured, and the hand was raised 
in quick salute. “ Thy will be done.” It was 
his final renunciation of self. 

Sinking into the chair before the desk, he sat 
there with bowed head. At last he arose and, 
the book still in his hand, went back to his chair 
by the fire. As he sat looking into the flames, 
his old dreams of greater works rose up before 
him — those things that had been quite for- 
gotten in his days of sorrow. They were 


Charred Wood 


315 


coming back to life, and he began to be half 
afraid of these, his dream children. Already 
they seemed too real. 

Ann, all unconscious of his presence, opened 
the door; she paused, hesitatingly silent. 

“Well, Ann?” The voice was gentle, 
resigned. 

“ A telegram. Father.” 

He took the envelope which somehow re- 
minded him of the yellow flames of his fire 
and seemed reaching out to grasp him. With 
a murmured prayer he tore it open. It was 
a message from the Bishop. The words were 
few, but only too easily understood by the priest 
who sought obscurity: 

“ Forgive me, my friend. I had not 
the heart to tell you the truth. I need 
you now, and then, perhaps, those 
greater than I. You may stay but a 
very little while. Come to me imme- 
diately after Christmas.” 

The flame-colored message went to its kind 
amid the great logs of the fireplace. Father 
Murray picked up his book again, turned its 
pages, and read softly to himself: 


316 


Charred Wood 


Ah ! is Thy love indeed 
A weed, albeit an amaranthine weed, 
Suffering no flowers except its own to mount? 
Ah! must — 

Designer Infinite — 

Ah! must Thou char the wood ere Thou canst 
limn with it? 



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